


reckless

by radstereo



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Attempted Sexual Assault, Drug Use, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, and in this world homophobes dont interact, attempted sexual assault of a minor... gross i know, but richie and eddie are extremely affectionate in public, look its 1989 and people r homophobic, no pennywise, richie's a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 49,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radstereo/pseuds/radstereo
Summary: He wanted to know this boy. He wanted to know his name and his age and the things that make him tick. But was he even sure why? Richie's never been one for relationships— which didn't even matter, anyway, because suddenly on the fourth day of his freshman year, the entire school was discussing the fact that Richie Tozier had set the senior citizens home on fire, when, really, it was just an electrical problem. At only fourteen years old, everybody in Derry was so afraid of Richie Tozier, that his emotions just... disappeared. He was completely and utterly alone.Richie's gotten used to it, obviously, but for the first time in years, he wanted to know that boy from the store. He felt something. He hadn’t felt anything in a long time.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 124





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> alright, so. reckless started as a story i wrote on wattpad at 14 years old in december of 2017. it's racked up a nice 300k reads and i've finally brought myself to rewrite it. i hate so much about the original. but i adore so much about the rewrite. if you're an og reader, i hope you enjoy. if you're a first time reader, i hope you do, too. <3
> 
> love always,
> 
> sammi

The click of the train flying down the tracks in the distance echoed for miles. The boy sat coldly on a rock perched near the tunnel in which the vehicle would emerge from. He listened for the loud whistle of the train, calculating in his brain how close it was to coming out of the tunnel. He took a drag on the cigarette balanced between his fingertips, exhaling shakily and swallowing back a cough. His skin was bruised and aching, the dried blood that had been trickling down his nose leaving a stain that would take a few tries to remove. 

He had gone on his break a mere hour ago, but his boss knew that he rarely only took a thirty minute break, especially during the later hours before sundown. He'd left and got into a fight with that kid who hated him, Henry Bowers, he believed his name was— Bowers had punched him in the face and then left. So the boy? He went to the train tracks.

The air wasn't even cold, really. It was early April in Derry, when spring actually began to kick in, despite the claim being mid-March as the first days of the new season. But this boy— he was still shivering, at the air or his own pending loneliness, he did not know, but something made him cold. 

He puffed on the cigarette until it was nothing but a small thumb of ash, and he flicked the debris away onto the tracks as the train exploded from the tunnel, zipping past him at a speed so high, it blew off his hood. He reached up and held his glasses, keeping a tight grip on the frames until the train was out of sight, the wind calming to a still warmth again. 

He stood up, dragging his destroyed sneakers against the pebbles as he walked across the tracks, burying his hands in his pockets and feeling around for his lighter. He pulled the small item out, clicking the flame a few times, watching it spark repeatedly, then releasing and seeing it fade away slowly. He walked until he was no longer on pebbles, but rather a sidewalk now; and he knew that he had reached the actual town of Derry now, sticking the lighter back in his jacket and walking quickly down the road, past small, pointless shops until he got to the pharmacy, pushing open the door and hearing the bell ring above his head. He walked to the back, seeing the large door leading to the offices of the facility. He reached into his other pocket, pulling out the familiar key and turning the knob of the door, entering the backroom easily and walking to the row of metal lockers, putting in his combination and grabbing his backpack and textbook, kicking it shut and walking to the manager's office. His knuckles rapped against the wood, three quick knocks, before a deep voice invited him in.

He entered the room slowly, mumbling a quick, "I'm leaving," before his boss gave a nod, and he was on his way. 

Walking back to his run-down home, he passed by the houses of many kids he knew from school, kids who not only didn't hang around with him but were, perhaps, afraid of him; they’d heard the horrible rumors of how last summer he'd stabbed a stray cat in his backyard, or only worked at the pharmacy to illegally distribute the drugs to people who wanted them. The rumors were ridiculous. He had never murdered a cat in his yard; hell, he'd never even seen a stray in Derry, much less killed one. And he wasn't a drug dealer— he worked because his lazy parents didn't care enough about their own careers to rack in good pay, so if they wanted to keep a house, he'd have to pipe in and pay some bills. 

Finally reaching the house, he entered the front door quietly, hearing the TV playing in the living room, what sounded like ALF, so he suspected his father had been watching that same channel and fell asleep in the La-Z-Boy recliner again. He popped his head in the room to confirm his suspicions; his father was passed out asleep on the chair, the screen bright and lighting up the semi-dark room. It was just starting to get dark late again, rather than the usual 5:30-and-pitch-black-outside weather. It was 6:25 PM, he noticed, looking at the clock on the wall, pushing up his glasses and retreating to his room, knowing that if his father was asleep in his chair, then his stepmother was drunk in their room. 

He really never stopped to think what his real mother would say if she were here— God, he'd never really met the woman in person, let alone had a conversation with her. But he supposed she was a classy woman, if she'd had the right mindset to leave his father. He knew he had a brother out there somewhere. A twin, he'd heard his dad say once. He wasn't sure if he believed it all that much— the twin part, not having a brother as a whole.

He shut his door, setting his things down on the bed and going to his desk, retrieving the small bag of weed he kept in the drawer, then one piece of paper and rolled himself a joint quickly, professionally, sticking the end between his teeth and pulling out his lighter, lighting the other end and inhaling heavily, feeling the smoke fill his mouth, then exhaling, blowing smoke against the window. He back peddled to his bed, lying face-up and taking another drag, feeling the effects start to kick in. His chest lightened up quickly, and he spent a while in that position; staring up at the ceiling and smoking, the room smelling of weed, and when he was finished with the joint, he rubbed out the flame and chucked it across the room, wanting something more. Something he hadn't tried in a while, something that was probably not a wise idea— but he never was very smart with his own livelihood.

He went to his dresser, searching through his sock drawer before finding the small bag, the powder inside minimal but stark white, almost bright to his bloodshot, intoxicated eyes. He smirked, shutting the drawer and walking to his desk, pulling out the chair and opening the bag, dumping the contents of it on the surface. He grabbed his card from his wallet, and arranged the fine powder into a thin line, taking a deep breath and leaning down, plugging one nostril and snorting it through the other. A sweet, hot pain exploded in his sinus tract, eyes watering immediately and his brain going fuzzy with it. It was silent as he leaned back against his chair, taking open-mouthed inhales and exhales shakily, fingertips quivering with the high against his thighs. He felt blood trickle from his nostrils, just how it had not that long ago when he'd been punched. He closed his eyes, eyelids fluttering against his eyeballs rapidly, like his nerves could no longer control themselves from the mixture of that surged through his bloodstream. _God, that was a dumb fucking idea._

No, Richie Tozier was not a drug dealer. He did not work at the pharmacy to distribute medications to people who he knew damn well would go home and dope so hard on them that they would never open their eyes again. But the things he did to himself; the damage he did to his own body, constantly getting high, taking far too many drugs all at once and risking death too many times to count, those were things he chose, things that nobody had any business rumoring or gossiping about. They could kiss his ass if they wanted another reason to talk about Richie Tozier.


	2. one

Eddie Kaspbrak was not worried about going to a new school; he had no friends to leave behind in his old city. The boy couldn't care less about that— it was the impending horror and frustration of moving cities that worried him. 

Living in New York had always been like living in a dream— being born in Queens, before eventually moving to Manhattan... visiting Central Park everyday, being able to bike to-and-from location to location, never needing to drive... it was something Eddie cherished with all of his huge heart. When school let out, he didn't need to go home right away; he could bike to the park and take photos, then bike home and show his mother the pictures he had taken, of various things: trees, birds, structures, random photogenic people. Anything that Eddie Kaspbrak found interesting enough to photograph, he did.

Living in the city was great for a photography kid like Eddie. Moving to some run-down, boring town in Maine? Not so great for said photography kid. 

He hated leaving his Manhattan apartment, and he hated the drive from the Big Apple to the Big Letdown. He hated walking into his new, sad, little one-story house, to which Sonia Kaspbrak filled up the cabinets with his seemingly-unnecessary medications. And as Eddie put the checkered bed sheets on the hard mattress in his new room, and they set up all they could, it still did not feel like home. It felt like shit— and it looked like shit, with a cracking roof and a faraway odor of what could've been vomit.

"You're going to like it here, Eddiebear, I promise," his mother said, trying to reassure him, but it only made him hate her more for hauling them here when they were doing great in New York.

"I don't even understand why we're here," Eddie whined, crossing his arms and looking around at the chipping wallpaper. Eddie angrily remembered that their apartment in Manhattan didn't have chipping wallpaper.

"Because, Eddie," Sonia sighed, "You know that it's hard to live in New York."

The boy shook his head angrily, feeling the frustration build up inside of his small chest. "It wasn't hard! I loved it there!"

She just walked away from her raging son with an unimpressed scoff, going into her room and beginning to set up her things. Eddie rolled his eyes, going into his room as well. Sonia didn't get it; she'd never loved New York like Eddie had— never even liked it there, perhaps. He may have not had many friends, but he had the city itself to care about, the many perks of Central Park floating through Eddie's brunette head and making him feel so damn happy. 

Derry did not make Eddie happy. 

Eddie decided to take his bike through the town, seeing what all was here, even though he knew it would be a load of shit. He said goodbye to his mother, then rode out of the little neighborhood they now lived in and sped down the street until he got to the main part of town. There were small shops on each side of the road, and Eddie kept his bike on the sidewalk as he passed bakeries and butchers and stores— and then the front wheel of his bike got caught in a raised crack in the cement, and he went flying towards the ground. Eddie caught himself with his arms, but they were immediately scraped up, and he panicked—  _ God, how many germs could be on this pavement? Oh God, I'm gonna get an infection, a horrible, horrible infection that kills me, and I will die in this stupid town in Maine, and Oh my God, I am hyperventilating,  _ he thought.

He reached and felt for his small, blue fanny pack, to which he retracted his inhaler and took two extremely large puffs from it, feeling his throat open up slowly, but then he looked down to his bleeding arm and started to panic again.

He looked around frantically, and noticed a pharmacy on the other side of the street. Eddie's body relaxed with relief, as he began to run across the road quickly, and burst in the front door of the shop, looking through the place and finding the aisle with medical care. He grabbed everything he knew he needed: peroxide, bandaids… all of the first-aid supplies that he would normally have. Eddie walked to the counter, setting down his things and reaching in his pocket for the spare ten dollar bill left in his jeans. He looked up and locked eyes with the cashier. 

Behind thick, bulky glasses that magnified his eyes far too large for his face, his irises were a dark blue, a nice contrast against his pale and freckled skin. His red lips were chapped as all hell, and dark, curly hair framed his face, going down to the nape of his neck and coming back up to the very bottom tips of his ears. It was unruly and messy, almost bedhead like. Eddie had to look up through his lashes in order to make direct eye contact with him, for he had to have been at least six foot, and Eddie was standing short at a mere five foot three. But,  _ God _ , Eddie thought he was gorgeous. And that scared him a whole lot. 

He clicked his tongue as he began to ring up the small boy's items. "Did you find everything okay?" he asked, uninterested. Eddie nodded.

"Yes," he said, his voice coming out a lot higher than he had expected it to. The cashier didn't pay any mind to Eddie's response, finishing up his things and looking up— or, rather, down— at Eddie.

"Six seventy five, please," he sighed, rapping his fingers against the counter as Eddie handed him a ten dollar bill. The other boy put it in the register and brought out the change, handing it to Eddie, along with a bag of his things.

"Here you go," he said, and Eddie took the bag and money from him quickly, sending a quick smile before turning away and leaving the pharmacy. He couldn't get that damn face out of his mind.

Eddie walked to the side of the pharmacy, where a large piece of wood sat, sturdy enough to be used as a bench; so he sat down and patched himself up, feeling much better now that he knew he wouldn't get any sort of infections. 

Eddie got back to his bike quickly, and began his descent home— well, the  _ house _ , because Derry is not home to Eddie Kaspbrak. Manhattan is, but he couldn't bike all the way back to New York. Oh, how he wished he could.

-

Richie Tozier ran home in a frenzy, his heavy feet slamming against the broken concrete beneath him, the distant screaming of Henry Bowers and his lunatic friends chasing after him like hounds out for blood. Richie's worn-out Doc Martens scuffed the ground as he sprinted through the train tracks, his chest heaving violently, searching for oxygen.

When Richie finally got to his neighborhood, he busted through the front door of his home, locking it behind him and letting himself take a few deep breaths, relieved that he had escaped from Henry.

Henry, however, angrily slammed his fists against a nearby tree, watching Richie get into his home safe and sound. Patrick Hocksetter laid a hand on Henry's tensed shoulders.

"We'll get him another day, yeah?" he reassured. Henry growled, shoving Patrick's hand off of him, turning away from the road and leaving Richie's neighborhood.

Richie laid back against his bed and sighed, running a shaky hand through his mangled curls. He kicked off his boots, throwing them in the same corner as his Vans, the only two pairs of shoes he owned, while shrugging off his bomber jacket and hung it on the back of his door. Richie's hand-ripped, navy blue jean-clad legs took long strides across his room to his desk, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag of it, blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling. It dissipated as it climbed higher towards the glow-in-the-dark stars that stuck to his ceiling, leftover from being a kid, and he sighed, sitting down on his bed and placing the cigarette in the ashtray carefully as to not put it out. 

Bowers and his gang had been chasing Richie since he got off work. They caught him outside of the pharmacy, held a blade to his throat and threatened him like Henry Bowers does. Richie wasn't scared— no, hell no, Richie Tozier did  _ not _ get scared. Not of Henry, not of anything. But he ran fast, because Richie was not about to die at eighteen years old. Henry could come find him on his nineteenth birthday, if he really wanted to kill.

He pulled off his t-shirt quickly, a light purple cotton, decorated with darker purple stripes descending vertically down his torso. Richie threw it across the room, landing it on the side of his laundry basket, before picking back up the cigarette and continuing to smoke it.

The boy he'd seen at work today, the one who had come into the store—  _ he _ was on Richie's mind. Nicely combed back hair, but with a few strands falling clear here and there, soft eyes that were decorated with long lashes. The splatter of freckles across his nose, the way he stood on the tips of his toes in order to try and meet Richie's gaze perfectly.

He wanted to know this boy. He wanted to know his name and his age and the things that make him tick. But was he even sure why? Richie's never been one for relationships— the last one he partook in was with Max Mayfield in the eighth grade, which lasted for promptly three days, before Richie attempted to grab her boob, and she screamed in his face and threatened to beat him with her skateboard. He kind of steered clear of girls after that, which didn't seem to matter, anyway. Because suddenly on the fourth day of his freshman year, the entire school was discussing the fact that Richie Tozier had set the senior citizens home on fire, when, really, it was just an electrical problem. Why did people say that? To this day, he didn't know. And that marked the first day that people were afraid of Richie: they'd move out of the way for him when he walked in the halls, talk shit about him behind his back, and quiver in actual, lethal fear if he so much as glanced at them. At only fourteen years old, everybody in Derry was so afraid of Richie Tozier, that his emotions just... disappeared. Dissolved away. He had no friends to count on, no family to talk to. He was completely and utterly alone. 

Richie's gotten used to it, obviously, but for the first time in years, he wanted to know that boy from the store. He felt something. He hadn’t felt anything in a long time. 


	3. two

Eddie did not go home after the pharmacy visit.

His first intention was to go home, yes, but then he had stumbled across this place that he just seemingly needed to look around.

It was a quarry, the water blue-ish green and beautiful, and for a long while, Eddie just sat on the cliff, dangling his small feet off the edge, when suddenly he felt a shoe dig into the middle of his back. Eddie turned around, locking eyes with a boy. 

He must've been the same age as Eddie; seventeen or eighteen, with auburn hair and kind, blue eyes. He held a backpack tightly, and looked at Eddie with an expression of confusion.

"Hi?" Eddie said, almost like a question. The boy sat down his bag and took a seat next to Eddie, dangling his feet off of the edge, too.

"I-I haven't s-seen you h-here b-before," he stuttered out, and Eddie furrowed his brows slightly at the way he spoke. 

"I just moved here, like, today," Eddie chuckled, looking away and back towards the water. 

"I'm B-Bill."

He looked back up to him with a closed-mouth smile. "I'm Eddie."

"S-So," Bill started, "I s-see you f-found the q-quarry." He gestured to water below. Eddie nodded.

"Yup," he said. "Why, is it reserved or something?" 

Bill shook his head with a laugh. "N-No. My f-friends and I j-just come here a l-lot."

Eddie nodded, again.

"A-Are you g-going to D-Derry High S-School?" 

Eddie said, "Yeah, tomorrow."

It was quiet, then, as Bill and Eddie sat next to each other, watching the water down below, as the sunset got darker and the air got chillier. Eddie held his hoodie closer to his skin, worrying about getting sick like his mother had always warned him about.

"I think I should get going," Eddie said, breaking the silence between the two boys, and Bill looked up at him, nodding in approval.

"A-All r-right," he said, struggling to speak the way everybody else does. Eddie sent him a smile before hopping back on his bike and peddling away, leaving Bill to sit at the cliff alone. 

-

The next day was Eddie's first day of school, and he wasn't worried at all. He's gotten through all of his classes quite well, until lunch rolled around.

He stood at the front of the cafeteria, scanning the crowd, but it was useless in the end— he didn't have any place to sit. The social classes of the school were obviously very separated, for one entire side of the room was filled with letterman jackets and cheerleading uniforms, and the other was broken glasses and tucked in shirts. Eddie's sweater was thick and suddenly itchy against his skin, and he turned to leave the room, when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

Bill. From the quarry.

He was sitting in the middle between jocks and losers, and Eddie rushed over, trying not to seem too eager, and stood at the foot of Bill's table, which was populated by three other people. The one sat next to Bill had short, dirty blond, curly hair, the coils tight and shiny against his head, with a scowled expression as he almost angrily ate his lunch. The boy in front of Bill had dark skin and sweet eyes, staring at Eddie with a look of kindness, nothing malicious in his gaze whatsoever. The final stranger was a slightly chubby boy, who was carefully writing something in a small notebook, eyes concentrated on his moving hand as he wrote. Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Bill," he said, shuffling his feet anxiously as the boy's full attention went on him. "Uh, can I sit with you guys?"

"O-Oh! E-Eddie! S-Sure," Bill said, making room for Eddie at the end of the table. Eddie audibly sighed in relief as he sat down, turning to look at the rest of the table. 

"T-This is S-Stan, B-Ben, and Mike," Bill introduced, while Eddie nodded and smiled.

"Hey, guys," Eddie said, directing his attention to the boys, who all addressed him in various ways. Mike smiled, and the newly introduced ate with comfortable conversation, just getting to know Eddie, as well as him getting to know the boys.

Bill Denbrough was the baseball star of the school, leading their so-far undefeated team through the new season. Everyone practically loves him, with the exception of a few assholes— but for the most part, Bill is a nice guy to everyone, so they are kind to him back.

Stan Uris doesn't play a sport, but spends a lot of his free time watching Bill practice and play. He's Bill's biggest supporter, it seems, starting the famous nickname of "Big Bill," which everybody, even the coach, calls Bill. When Bill's not playing, though, Stan is usually spending his time in his father's synagogue, trying to nail down the Torah and the pronunciations in it— something he's been struggling with since his early teen years.

Ben Hanscom loves poetry: writing it, reading it, hearing it, anything— he absolutely adores it. But another thing he loved was history, so he spent most of his time at the library, reading up on Derry, and writing poems for no reason in particular. Of course, he was a huge supporter of Bill as well, and went to his games whenever possible. 

Lastly, Mike Hanlon was a football player, and dominated the team with his intense and almost unusual strength. He was the quarterback, and everybody in school admired him for it. Perhaps it was just the stereotype that everyone had to love the quarterback, but it seemed as though everybody truly did. Bill and Mike were both very grateful that baseball season was during the spring and football during the fall, so they could support each other during their respective seasons. Mike was in his senior year like Eddie, so the beginning of November marked the end of his last football season, which Bill said he was very emotional over.

Eddie told them about photography and living in New York, which they seemed endlessly interested in, so for the rest of lunch, Eddie explained how a real camera worked and what the subway was like. They were fascinated by everything he had to say; and for the first time since leaving Manhattan and coming to shitty ol' Derry, Eddie felt happy.

-

On the rare occasion that Richie Tozier shows up to school, he's mostly high or drunk, just to get through it. The next day, however, he soberly drove up to the school's parking lot in his beaten-up Chevy Silverado for the first time in a few days, with a lit cigarette dangling from his bitten lips. He stopped the ignition and exited the car, kicking the door shut with his boot-clad foot and adjusted his jean jacket against his torso, the faded, black strap of his messenger bag slung over his right shoulder. He took large steps, one foot in front of the other, his long legs moving swiftly.  _ He’s all legs.  _

He got into the building with no problem, taking the cigarette from his mouth and puffing one last time before putting it out against the lid of a garbage can and then tossing it in the bin, pushing up his glasses and walking through the hall quickly, watching as small girls and nerdy boys frantically moved out of his way as he walked, and when he arrived at his locker, he put in the combination quickly, grabbing his calculus textbook and walking to his first class of the day. 

He could feel eyes on him as he headed towards his classroom. When he entered, Richie took his usual spot at the back of the class, put his feet up on the desk, and waited for the instruction to begin.

To waste time, however, he pulled out an old, coffee stained notebook that smelled of weed and... definitely tequila. He situated it in his lap and retrieved a pencil, opening the journal to a random page and beginning to doodle whatever came into his mind. 

He only diverted his attention when he felt somebody standing next to his desk. He glanced up, adjusting his glasses, to look at the small boy next to him. It was the boy from the pharmacy— it had to be. And, so, Richie was almost ecstatic when the boy opened his mouth and asked, "Do you mind if I sit here?" 

He gestured towards the seat next to Richie, which was empty. The taller boy shrugged, and watched him set down his bag and sit in the chair, placing small hands on the surface of the desk and looking forward to the front of the classroom. 

"You work at that pharmacy, don't you?" he spoke up, to which Richie closed his notebook and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, and the boy turned around to face him, staring into his Coke-bottle glasses and even farther into his blue eyes.

"I'm Eddie," he smiled, a small smile, but it was so bright that it could have lit up the damn room— and Richie almost smiled back. 

_ Eddie _ . God, he wanted to say it a thousand times, hear it roll off of his own tongue. 

"Richie," he said back, putting his notebook away just as the final bell rang and the teacher entered the room. 

"Tozier, get your feet off of the desk."

So, Richie took his feet off of the desk, and sat with his head in his hands, hearing Eddie's soft breathing next to him, almost blowing into his hair as their teacher explained some bullshit lesson that Richie couldn't care less about, because he was going to get an A on the test anyway.

Eddie, however, was seemingly drawn into the conversation of calculus, wanting desperately to get good grades this year, knowing that this year all depended on whether he got into a good college or not. His biggest dream was to get a ride off of a scholarship, but he knew he wasn't that good at anything, and he knew he had to pay for his tuition himself, hopefully with some help from his mother if he played his cards right.

However, Richie's presence next to him was making that quite hard. 

His left bouncing against the floor, and his hands were tapping against the surface of the table. Eddie tried to ignore it, but simply couldn't. He turned to Richie, and snapped quietly, "Could you stop?"

Richie chuckled, leaning back in his chair and pushing up his glasses, smirking at Eddie and shaking his head slowly.

"God, you're so small," Richie whispered, very visibly dragging his eyes up and down Eddie's frame, making him squirm in his seat. He forced himself to face forward, trying to forget Richie was there, until he felt the sole of a boot press into his calf, and hook around his ankle, slowly tugging Eddie's chair closer to Richie's. Eddie pulled his leg away and scooted his chair back to its original place, while Richie frowned.

"No fun, Eds," he said, leaning forward and snatching Eddie's purple pen out of his hand in the middle of his note-taking, staring at it almost intensely, but Eddie knew the taller boy was only doing it as an excuse to annoy him.

"Eds?" he grimaced, taking back his pen. "That's so ugly. Don't call me that."

He was lying. He loved it. There was something incredibly cute about Richie already coming up with a nickname for Eddie, despite only knowing the boy for less than an hour. Eddie wanted to hear Richie say it again, and he knew the only way to get him to do that is to pretend he hated it, so Richie would tease him with it.

"Eds..." Richie whispered, getting closer to Eddie's ear, and the smaller boy felt his hot breath against his skin, sending a chill down his spine. "Ah, it's fun to tease you."

Eddie faked a scowl, and finished copying notes from the board, which Richie hadn't even glanced at once. "How are you in calculus? You don't even take notes."

"I remember everything," Richie sighed, leaning his head on one hand and locking eyes with Eddie, who felt as though his heart was about to explode. Richie licked his lips, a small section of his tongue dragging across his seemingly naturally red lips, making Eddie's skin almost break out in a sweat. There was something about Richie that Eddie found so adoringly gorgeous.

Richie smiled, scanning Eddie's face. "You're cute, Eds."

Eddie, of course, blushed profusely, watching Richie's smirk morph into a full blown grin, which he quickly hid with his hand, looking down at the desk. Eddie felt like his face was on fire. 

Richie was fucking  _ terrified _ . He hadn't felt even  _ close  _ to this way since the summer before seventh grade when Betty Ripsom kissed him on the cheek, before he really understood what a crush was. He swore off feelings, swore off that wretched word:  _ love _ . God, even thinking it puts a sour taste in his mouth. Richie said he would never love anybody, never even  _ like _ anyone like that ever again. It was too damn risky. You get hurt too easily.

But, now, Richie Tozier is biting back a grin, as this boy— this adorable, gorgeous boy— sits next to him, blushing like he'd never seen anyone blush before, and he was so, so afraid.


	4. three

Richie's clammy hands gripped the sheets of his bed as he awoke in a sweat, breathing in heavy pants. He felt the strain of his sweatpants pushing against his crotch, remembering the intense dream he just experienced. 

His head fell back against the pillow, wet curls sticking to his forehead, and he sighed. "Fuck."

Richie turned to look at the time; it was 5:38 AM, and so he decided, hell, today is a good day to take a shower.

Richie Tozier takes showers, obviously, but he couldn't remember the last time he washed his hair. It was simply too much work to wrestle with the mane of curls, and he'd only be caught dead touching a towel to his hair. The cotton made it frizz up like you wouldn't believe, and the only way he can dry it is from the air. And his hair was thick, and there was a lot of it, so it took ages to dry. Richie hated taking showers in the morning, but he hadn't had a wet dream since he was, like, thirteen, so he wasn't usually covered in his own sweat before school. 

He got out of bed, and threw off his sweaty clothes, walking next door to the bathroom and turning on the shower. The rusty shower-head spurted to life, and Richie climbed into the shower, the tip of his curls brushing against the shower-head, instantly soaking his hair first, before slowly dribbling down his body. He was too damn tall for this shower. 

Richie closed his eyes and spun around, letting the stream fall over his face and down his chest. He almost let a hand trail down his body, but stopped himself—  _ the fuck was he doing?  _

He felt guilty. That stupid dream he’d had… all about some  _ stupid  _ boy in a  _ stupid _ calculus class. 

Richie took a breath.  _ Should he just jerk it or not? _ He decided against it, in the end, continuing to shower like normal. When he was done, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, his hair dripping down onto his back. He grabbed the towel from on top of the toilet seat, wrapping it around his waist and leaving the bathroom, walking back into his room and checking the clock: 6:02 AM. 

Richie carefully got dressed, keeping the towel draped around his shoulders to catch any drops of water that might fall from his hair. He slipped on his glasses, blinking rapidly and waiting for his eyes to adjust. Once his hair was dry enough to the point where it wasn't going to drip everywhere, he threw the towel in his laundry basket, and slipped on his Vans, grabbing his bag and keys, leaving the house without saying a word to his parents. 

The drive in his Silverado was silent, not even filled with music like usual. He couldn't be bothered to pop in a Guns N' Roses cassette as he drove. So, he sat in the silence of his truck as he journeyed to school, anxious to see Eddie again. 

And, of course, he scolded himself for that.  _ Why the hell is he anxious? _

When he pulled up to the school at around 6:17, he got out of his car, and took his bag with him as he entered the building. Today, Richie scanned the halls for the familiar face, knowing his height gave him a huge advantage for locating Eddie, a pretty short guy. 

He didn't see him, though, and a part of him was glad. What the hell would he do? Walk up to him and start a conversation? That's not like Richie at all. He went to his locker and started to gather his things, when suddenly he was being spun around and pinned up against the locker, the person laughing loudly when they locked eyes.

"Ha!" she laughed, kissing Richie's cheek and letting him go, leaning up against his locker and looking up at him. Richie rolled his eyes.

"Hey, Bev," he said, beginning to walk towards his calculus class, Beverly trailing behind him. 

Beverly Marsh was five foot five, Richie's best friend, and a basketball pro. Everyone was surprised, obviously, because since when were short girls good at basketball? But, nevertheless, Bev proved them wrong, leading the girl's basketball team undefeated with a smile on her face the whole time. The season was still going— basketball was the only sport at Derry High that lasted all year, rather than for just a couple of months. Beverly was grateful: she got to spend more time with her friends from the team, mostly referring to Jane "Eleven" Hopper, a girl on the team who, along with Bev, was a short one, but amazing at the sport, and she earned herself the nickname "Eleven," because her jersey number is #11. One basketball match, she leaped so high that she dunked the ball and won the winning shot, and everybody, even the rival team and the kids in the stand who had no clue who Jane Hopper was, starting chanting, "Eleven! Eleven! Eleven!", and thus, she no longer went by the former Jane but now Eleven. Bev called her El for short, and many people took on that, too.

Richie and Bev walked to class together while she talked about basketball practice yesterday, and how El and her had been practicing dunks for the next game this week. Richie told her he might not be able to make it, but he would attend if he could. She appreciated it, and let him know it was okay if he couldn't. 

When they got to his class, she stood on her tippy toes and flicked his cheek, racing off to go find Eleven. Richie chuckled as he entered the class, and noticed Eddie was already at their seat. 

His heart started racing, and he internally groaned at himself. God, what a fucking loser— getting all giddy about seeing some boy. Who gives a shit? Richie sure didn't.

"Richie! Hey!"

Richie gave far too many shits.

He smiled, sitting down next to Eddie and messing up his neatly fixed hair. Eddie whined, hitting Richie's arm.

"Hey! Really, Richie?!" Eddie said, fixing his hair the best he could without seeing it, before giving up and huffing loudly. Richie bit back a smile. Eddie’s hair was actually kind of curly. 

"Sorry, Eds," he said, putting his feet up on the desk and leaning his head back. He tried not to think about the fact that he dreamt about this boy less than two hours ago— dreamt of him in Richie's bed, panting and whimpering, pleading for Richie to…  _ oh fuck off, dick-brain!  _

"You look nice today," Eddie said nonchalantly, and Richie almost immediately felt his stomach flutter. Richie was wearing his normal pair of dark blue jeans, ripped from all the wear-and-tear, a blue Metallica t-shirt, and a jean jacket. Eddie wasn't wrong about Richie looking nice, because he did. Richie grimaced to himself at the sensation he felt when Eddie spoke, but looked over at the boy and said, "You don't look too bad yourself, babe."

Richie had always been somewhat flirty to most— the majority of people don't talk to him, but when Richie takes an interest in somebody, he'll flirt as much as he can. It shoots back from his days as a thirteen year old, where the only words that ever came out of his mouth were jokes about somebody's mother.

Eddie's face turned red and he smiled, looking down at the floor and hiding his face from Richie, who didn't like that one bit. He put a long, thin finger under Eddie's chin, lifting his head to lock their eyes. "You're so cute." 

Eddie didn't respond, but looked at Richie's hand from the corner of his eye and said, "You have huge hands."

The small boy took Richie's large hands in his own, fooling around with them, holding their fingers side by side and comparing the sizes of them. Eddie's were magnificently smaller than Richie's. So much smaller, that Richie could completely curl his fingers overtop of Eddie's without hassle. 

"You're so tiny!" Richie laughed, and Eddie pulled his hand away, faking a pout. Richie wanted to kiss it off of his face.  _ Wait, what? _

"You know what they say about big hands, Eds," Richie teased, wiggling his fingers in the air, before moving to make a fingering-motion with them. Eddie gasped, grabbing Richie's hand and shoving it down under the desk and out of the air. It landed on Eddie's upper thigh, and the two boys froze for a moment, both staring at where Richie's palm entirely covered Eddie's thigh, his fingers hanging off the sides of his leg, and Richie slowly tightened his hand, gripping Eddie's thigh through his jeans. 

Eddie bit his lip, and thought:  _ We are in class. We are going to get caught. _

Richie licked his bottom lip, and thought:  _ Holy fucking shit I am going to seriously pop a boner right here in the middle of this classroom. _

Richie's entire hand could hold Eddie's thigh, and that made him grip harder, emitting a small whine from Eddie's lips, and Richie seriously thought he was going to die if Eddie made that noise again.

"Richie—" And Eddie was seriously about to ask Richie to go  _ make out with him in the bathroom _ , something that Eddie would have never dreamed of himself doing in a million years, when the bell rang, and the door to the classroom slammed shut. Richie's hand shot away from Eddie's thigh like he'd been burned, and Eddie attempted to swallow away his extremely dry mouth as the teacher went into the lesson. 

About half an hour in, Eddie felt something land on his thigh, and when he looked down, he was met with the sight of Richie's hand back on his thigh, resting there. It made Eddie's heart pound in his chest. 

Everybody was working silently, when a girl who sat in front of them dropped her pencil. She bent over in her chair to grab it, eyes going to the hand on Eddie's thigh, and neither Richie nor Eddie noticed that she was staring with furrowed brows, until he glanced up from his paper to look at the clock. 

Eddie noticed the girl watching, and his eyes widened beyond belief, as he pushed Richie's hand off of him and completely curled into himself, sending the girl a look that said,  _ Please, keep quiet. _

She nodded hesitantly, and then turned back forward, beginning to work again. Eddie let out a deep breath, and let his eyes meet Richie's next to him, who looked plenty confused.

"That girl," Eddie whispered, gesturing to the redhead that sat in front of them, and Richie rolled his eyes.

"Max won't do shit," he whispered back. "She may be tough but she's still scared of me."

Eddie looked at the back of her head— Max, he now knew— and bit his lip. He shakily grabbed Richie's hand again, replacing it on his thigh, and Richie smirked to himself, gripping him lightly and going back to his work. Eddie closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing his legs together as subtly as he could, trying to force the boner he was definitely sporting to go away before Richie inevitably found out and had a legitimate reason to tease him for the next year of his life.

When the bell rang, Eddie packed up his things quickly and frowned at the absence of Richie's hand on him as they both stood to leave, and as Richie walked smoothly, Eddie caught up with him, walking alongside him and attempting to stay in line with his large, fast steps.

"Richie!" Eddie called, and Richie turned around and stopped, meeting Eddie's eyes with a smile, and he slowed down his pace as they walked together. Eddie had never realized how utterly tall Richie was until this moment— he towered over Eddie, and yet, it didn't intimidate the shorter of the two boys one bit. 

"Do you wanna sit with me at lunch today?" Eddie asked, looking up at Richie, who shrugged.

"Most days I ditch this place and go to McDonald's, or something," Richie said. Eddie made a disgusted face.

"McDonald's? Really? You're going to do  _ that _ to yourself?" Eddie scoffed, shaking his head as they arrive at a locker— Richie's, presumably, where he puts his calculus textbook away and then leans up against the metal door, looking down at Eddie.

"Oh, shut up, what are you, the FDA?" he laughed, and when Eddie giggled and sent Richie a smile, he felt his heart soar only the smallest bit. 

"That's fine," Eddie said. "You're just... nice company."

Richie smirked, raising a brow. "Me? Or my hand?"

Eddie's smile dropped and he glared at Richie, trying desperately to not laugh. "Never mind. You're uninvited!"

Eddie began to stomp away, but Richie grabbed onto his shoulder, spinning him around and pinning him against the locker, biting his lip and smiling. 

"You're coming with me," he whispered, sending a chill down Eddie's spine. The smaller boy nodded vigorously, and Richie chuckled, letting go of him and winking, turning on his heel and walking off to his next class.

And, hell, Eddie was screwed.

-

When lunch rolled around, Eddie wondered if Bill and his friends would notice and/or care about his absence, but a larger part of him would rather spend that half an hour with Richie.

Since they were seniors, and Richie had a car on campus, he was allowed to leave school for lunch as long as he alerted the staff. So, he told the main office he'd been back at 1:00, and they let him go— and he brought Eddie along with him.

Eddie was thoroughly disgusted with Richie's dirty truck, but got in the passenger seat anyway as Richie stuck the key in the ignition, starting up the truck and reaching into the glovebox, taking out a cassette tape and popping it into the built-in player. He waited for it to boot up as he pulled out of the lot.

"This is... quite something," Eddie said, looking around at the various items of trash and grime in Richie's interior. Richie laughed as music began to fill the car, and Eddie felt a confused smile slip onto his face as he began to recognize the song. 

"Ziggy Stardust?" Eddie asked, turning to Richie. " _ You _ like David Bowie?"

"Hell yeah," Richie said, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel along to the beat of the song, humming along quietly. “I’m bi,  _ he’s  _ bi. We gotta stick together.” 

Eddie was surprised, honestly— Richie gave off the total punk-impression, with the way he dressed and all, not the type of boy that would listen to Bowie in his spare time. But, nevertheless, Eddie felt himself like Richie just a little bit more as he watched him sing along to the song on their drive to McDonald's.

When they arrived there, Richie informed Eddie that they're going through the drive-thru and eating in his car. Eddie didn't mind; in fact, he rather preferred it this way, so he wouldn't have to go sit in the place and gather whatever diseases lived in these fast food buildings.

Richie ordered, like, the whole menu— a Big Mac, two large fries, a large chocolate milkshake, ("For us to share," Richie had told Eddie) and two orders of McNuggets. Eddie was fascinated by the fact that Richie could order so much, but doubted that he would eat it all. When Richie asked if Eddie wanted anything, he shook his head quickly and said he'd rather die. Richie ordered him a medium fry anyway.

When they got their food— which took at least ten minutes, since Richie ordered the whole damn fast food chain— Richie pulled out of the McDonald's line and. parked behind the building, shielding them from the main road, and turned off the car. He turned to Eddie, who held the large bag in his hand with clear dissatisfaction.

"Get this fucking thing off of me," he whined, and Richie laughed, taking the bag and getting out all of his food, then handing Eddie the order of fries he certainly did not want.

"I'm not eating this, Richie," he said, pointing down to the fries in his lap. Richie popped of a few of his own in his mouth and sighed.

"Why not? They're just fries."

Eddie gasped. "No! It's McDonald's! Nothing there is even supposed to be consumed!"

"Just try one," Richie said, "and I'll leave you alone about it."

"No," Eddie said, crossing his arms. 

Richie bit his lip, and pouted at Eddie. "Please, Eds? For me?"

And Richie Tozier knew what that face did to the boy in his passenger seat, for Eddie shifted uncomfortably in the chair, before angrily pulling a fry out of the bunch and shoving it in his mouth.

Richie watched with great satisfaction as Eddie's face did not contour up into disgust, but, rather, pleasure, and he angrily groaned and snatched the milkshake from the cupholder, taking a large sip of it and shooting daggers at Richie with his brown eyes.

"I hate you!" Eddie whined, but continued to eat the fries, as Richie chowed down on his food, too. "And I'm not drinking any more of that milkshake after you put your gross mouth on it!"

Richie eventually put in a cassette: The Rolling Stones, Their Satanic Majesties Request, and he skipped to "She's A Rainbow," drumming on the dashboard quietly. The music wasn't very loud, but loud enough to hear, obviously.

"Where did you come from?" Richie asked, out-of-the-blue, glancing up at Eddie who sighed sadly.

"New York," he said, remembering Manhattan fondly. "I miss it there."

"But, you met me here," Richie pointed out sarcastically, eating a chicken nugget. "And this isn't New York, sweetheart."

"You're not that special," Eddie laughed, and Richie smiled adoringly, watching the way Eddie's tongue almost poked out of his lips as he giggled. 

"But I'm special to  _ you _ ," Richie whined, turning around and lying on his back across the seat, his head resting on Eddie's lap. Richie's Silverado had a three person seater in the front, and they had placed all of their food on the front dash, leaving the leather seats empty. Richie looked up at Eddie from where his head rested, watching the way the afternoon sun shined on his face.

"You're actually really gorgeous, Eds," Richie said, so low that maybe, Eddie was not even intended to hear. But, he did, and a blush traveled from his cheeks to his chest, and seeing Richie laying in his lap, staring up at him like that, it made him feel lightheaded. Like he was swimming.

"T-Thank you," Eddie stuttered out, feeling a whole hell of a lot like Bill Denbrough at the moment, stumbling over his words. Richie didn't mind, not at all. 

"Think we should head back?" Richie asked, and Eddie checked his watch— 12:47. He shrugged.

"If you want," he said. "But I'd much rather sit here with you all day and listen to The Stones."

Richie felt a smile poke at his lips, and before he could help it, he was grinning like he'd won the lottery. Perhaps Eddie Kaspbrak was the jackpot prize.


	5. four

When Sonia Kaspbrak learned that her son was spending his spare time with the infamous Richie Tozier she'd learned about from parents at her brand new job, it wasn't extreme at all to say she was furious.

Not only was Richie known around town for being a delinquent, the entire Tozier family were known as delinquents. Sonia's job partner, a man named Zack Denbrough, told her all about Went Tozier's life, his whore of a step-wife and, of course, his fuck-up of a son: the one and only Richie Tozier.

"Edward Kaspbrak!" Sonia yelled as Eddie stepped into the house, closing the door slowly behind him and staring at his fuming mother with a confused expression.

"What's wrong?" Eddie asked, setting down his backpack on the couch and going into the kitchen to take his medications. She followed him angrily.

"I hear you're hanging out with Richie Tozier?" she growls, and Eddie shrugs, downing his pills with water and turning to his mother.

"Uh, yeah? What's wrong with that?" Eddie asked, genuinely confused at why his mother was mad at him. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"He's a horrible influence, Eddiebear!" she said, throwing her hands in the air. "If you keep hanging out with him, he'll ruin you."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You're overreacting, Mom."

Sonia clenched her jaw, and said, with a terrifying glare, "If I hear about you seeing him again, you will wish you'd never even laid your eyes on that Tozier boy, got it?"

Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded hurriedly, taking his bag and running into his room and shutting the door behind him, leaning his back against it.

He wasn't gonna listen, obviously. Richie was a great guy. At least, to Eddie he was— and he didn't understand why his mother couldn't just be happy that her son was making friends in their new town.

Eddie sat at his desk for a while, doing his homework, before he heard his mother declare she was going out for a bit. He said goodbye, and as soon as he heard the door shut, Eddie ran to the phone in his living room, grabbing the local phone book and opening it up, flipping to the T section, praying that the phone book was organized by last name. 

It wasn't. There was no Toziers in the T section.

So, Eddie sighed, and began at the beginning— flipping through every page, looking for somebody with the last name of Tozier. And, after an hour of reading the fucking phone book, Eddie came across the only Tozier he could find: Wentworth Tozier.

Eddie dialed the number quickly, holding the receiver to his ear and waiting. It rang for a moment, before a voice said, "Tozier residence."

Eddie bit his lip. "Uh, hi, can I talk to Richie?"

"You've already got 'em, baby. Who's asking?" 

Eddie's eyes widened at the pet name, and he took a deep breath. "It's Eddie."

Eddie heard Richie's breathing waver on the other side of the line, before he said, "Eds! My main man!" 

Eddie chuckled. "I found you in the phone book."

"Aw, babe! You read the phone book for me?" Richie asked sweetly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and Eddie giggled. 

"Yeah."

"I wanna see you," Richie sighed longingly, and Eddie bit back a grin as he twirled the phone's cord around on his index finger. 

_ God, who was he?! A fucking girl? _

"I could come over?" Eddie suggested. "My mom's not home. I could tell her I went to take pictures or something."

"Pictures?" Richie asked. "Of what?"

Eddie shrugged. "Anything."

Richie hummed, and said, "Alright." He told Eddie where he lived, and with that, Eddie hung up the phone and wrote his mother a small note, saying he went off to take photos, grabbing both of his cameras and backpack (because he knew she'd check), and headed off to Richie's.

-

He knocked on the door hesitantly, and he could barely get in a third hit before the door flew open and Richie was stood there, shirtless and smirking.

"Sorry about my absence of clothes," Richie said, letting Eddie inside, who definitely was not complaining. "Spilled a bunch of shit on my shirt and was too lazy to get another one."

Eddie nodded, then took a look around Richie's house; the place was practically falling apart, much like his own. Richie grabbed his hand and tugged him to a room, one Eddie presumed was his, and shut the door, facing Eddie with a smile.

"So," Richie said, sitting on the bed. "Tell me about photography."

"What about it?" Eddie asked, opening his backpack and making sure he grabbed not only his Nikon but his Polaroid as well, which he did. Richie snatched the Polaroid camera out of Eddie's hand, examining it. 

"Is this the kind that prints them straight out?" Richie asked, holding it up to his eye and snapping a picture of Eddie, who was completely taken off-guard, but looked rather cute in the photo, which his mouth hung open and his eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Look at you!" Richie grinned, staring down at the photo once it developed. Eddie took his camera back, glaring at Richie.

"Don't waste film, Rich! If you wanna take bullshit photos, then use the Nikon," Eddie explained, handing him the digital. Richie frowned. 

"But then I don't get the physical copy," he whined, still looking down at the photo of Eddie.

"What? For masturbation material?"

Richie laughed at the joke, but his skin broke out in a sweat and his throat ran slightly dry at Eddie's words.

"No, for that I'd need a picture of your mom—” 

Eddie gasped. "Ew! Beep beep!" he screamed, lifting his hand and smacking it into Richie's face twice, who cackled.

"Beep beep?"

"Yes."

Richie smiled, scooting closer to Eddie as he began to flip through photos on his Nikon. Richie leaned his head against Eddie's watching the camera's screen as it changed from one image to the next, and Richie smiled at the feeling of Eddie's hair pressed against his cheek. 

Richie took a risk, then, and let his left hand slowly creep towards Eddie's right thigh, landing his palm on the skin there— yes, bare skin— Eddie was wearing shorts, having changed before leaving the house, and Richie was in heaven, finally being able to hold him properly, being able to touch him without the restriction of jeans on Eddie's legs. Eddie tensed up at the feeling, pausing his photo scroll and turning off the camera, setting it down in his bag and turning to Richie, whose eyes were dark and beautiful. 

And, then, Eddie was leaning over, and kissing Richie on the mouth. 

Sure, Richie had kissed before. It was all during games of spin-the-bottle, but it counted. But this... this was something different. This was somebody kissing him because they wanted to, not because of some stupid game. 

Eddie was on fire. He felt like every single cell in his body was fluttering with intensity, and this is all he wanted to do for the rest of his life; just kiss Richie Tozier. And to hell with his mother, and her coworkers, and everyone in this stupid town who thought Richie was a horrible person. 

"Eds," Richie grunted, and Eddie pulled away from his lips, knocking his head upwards and exposing Richie's neck, pressing kisses against his throat. Richie sighed, running his hands up Eddie's back and pulling on his hair, tugging his head away from him. Eddie's eyes were blown out, pink lips slightly swollen and agape as he panted, breathing quite heavily.

"You look wrecked," Richie whispered, and Eddie bit his lip, waiting for Richie to do something. Richie let his hands fall from Eddie's hair, and he slowly laid him down, so Richie was on top of Eddie. He leaned down and connected their lips, Eddie's hands flying to grip onto Richie's curls, tugging rougher than he meant to. Richie's mouth separated from Eddie's and he let out a groan at the feeling, tingles going down his spine. Eddie was in awe. 

Richie opened his eyes and locked them with Eddie's, sitting up on his knees. "Wow."

"Wow yourself," Eddie laughed, letting his hands rest against Richie's bare chest, dragging his blunt nails across his skin. Richie smirked, and rolled off of Eddie and onto his back, staring up at his bedroom ceiling silently.

"Can I take pictures of you?" Eddie asked, watching the side of Richie's sharply shaped face turn towards his own. Richie sat up, stretching out his shoulders for a moment before going into Eddie's bag and pulling out both cameras.

"Which one?" he asked, holding the Nikon in his right hand and the Polaroid in his left. Eddie smiled, sitting up quickly and grabbing the Nikon, wrapping the strap around his neck and then holding the Polaroid in his hand.

"It's cheesy," Eddie says, "But do you wanna go outside? To the quarry, maybe?"

Richie threw a shirt on and grabbed his car keys off of the desk. "Let's go, loser."

The two boys got into Richie's car, Eddie's Schwinn bike in the trunk of the pickup, and drove to the quarry. By the time they arrived, the sun had begun to set, and Eddie prayed his mother wasn't home yet.

Richie parked in the field before the quarry, getting out of his truck and tugging Eddie along with him, taking them to the edge of the water, where Richie sat down on a large rock there and stared at the other boy.

"Snap away," Richie said, and Eddie did just that— snapping pictures like no tomorrow, swapping between his Nikon and his Polaroid, taking photos as the sun darkened behind Richie's frame, the sky morphing into a gradient of pink and orange tones, the moon rising and filling the sun's place in the sky.  _ He's beautiful, _ Eddie thought.

The photoshoot lasted for a few minutes before Richie declared he needed something from his truck. Eddie followed like an obedient dog, watching Richie as he leaned into his car and grabbed something, turning back to Eddie and smirking.

Eddie watched as Richie set a cigarette between his lips, flicking the tip of a lighter and letting the flame ignite the end of the stick. Eddie grimaced, looking away as Richie took a deep puff.

"You know those things kill you, right?" he snapped, flipping through the Polaroid's he had taken of Richie, looking at them in the impending darkness as Richie smoked. 

"Yeah. And?"

"What, you  _ wanna _ die, or?" Eddie asked with a confused expression, watching Richie now instead of the photos. The tall boy shrugged, gesturing for Eddie to follow him into the bed of his truck. Eddie did, laying down on his back and staring up at the colorful sky, feeling Richie lay down next to him. 

"No," Richie said. "I've smoked since I was, like, twelve. I've always been like this."

Eddie gasped. "Twelve?! Rich! You were just a kid!"

He shrugged, turning his face towards Eddie's, letting his left hand hang off the side of the truck with the cigarette hanging between his fingers. Eddie turned to him, too, smelling the smoke on his breath, and yes, it reeked. Of course it smelled horrible, it was cigarette smoke. But something about the way it mixed with the mint of Richie's mouth— most likely his toothpaste— made Eddie want to kiss him again, kiss him long and hard in the bed of this truck.

"Kid? Eds, I was never  _ really  _ a kid," Richie said, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing it out into the air. Eddie bit his lip, watching Richie's lips move with the smoke.

"So, you've just always been six feet tall and subconsciously suicidal?" Eddie muttered, talking under his breath, but Richie heard. He chuckled, shaking his head.

"No," he responds, "I'm not suicidal, Eds." 

Richie locks eyes with Eddie, who frowned. 

"Let's just say, I haven't looked both ways when crossing the road in a long time."


	6. five

Richie couldn't forget the kiss he shared with Eddie. It haunted his mind, the sounds Eddie made echoing in his brain like he'd yelled them into a void. It wasn't bad, though— he enjoyed the memories, loved the way they replayed in his head every time he closed his eyes.

He had invited Eddie to go to Beverly's basketball game with him, and he had gladly agreed. Richie was happy Eddie wanted to go, but ecstatic that he'd get to flaunt Eddie off on his arm. He knew they weren't together or anything, but Richie Tozier could want things he didn't have, goddamnit. 

It was the evening of the game, and Richie had stayed after school ended along with Eddie. Richie was excited for Eddie to be able to meet Bev— and vise versa. She was in practice, getting ready for the game, when the coaches opened the doors to the gym. Richie and Eddie were the first people in the place. They took the very top bleachers, and watched as everyone started filing into the gym. Richie spotted a few people he knew— Henry Bowers and his crew, obviously. He also saw this kid that he thinks is El's step-brother or something like that— Will Byers, Richie believes his name is— sit down with a few other boys. When the gym filled to the brim and the game had officially begun, Richie was engrossed. 

He's always very interested in these games, especially because Beverly was playing. Richie watched the game like his father once wished he would've done— back as a little boy, when his father so desperately wanted his son to watch football with him, or go to baseball games. Richie hadn't like it then, but it was different now. He yelled and cheered for Beverly when she scored, so invested in the game.

"Who's the redhead?" Eddie asked Richie, who turned around and shot Eddie a grin.

"That's Beverly Marsh," Richie said proudly. "She's my best friend."

Eddie smiled and yelled, "Go Beverly!"

Richie was never happier than he was in that moment.

The winning shot was done by their team— Jane "Eleven" Hopper took possession of the ball, the crowd all cheering and screaming, on the edges of their seats, watching as the girl ran quicker than light, leaping off of her feet and dunking the ball, small hands gripping onto the rim of the hoop as the ball hit the ground underneath, the crowd erupting in magnificent chaos, Beverly jumping up and down on the court, running to El where she hung off of the rim, catching her when she let go and hugging the girl as the entire gym chanted, "Eleven! Eleven! Eleven!"

When the game was declared over and the gym had mostly cleared, Richie sprinted down the bleachers and met Bev with open arms, his best friend leaping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist and laughing.

"We did it!" Bev yelled happily, pulling back and smiling. "Can you believe El is the best?!" 

El smiled sheepishly next to Richie. Truthfully, she was somewhat afraid of him, hearing many things about him through her friends and the way people speak about him in Derry. She turned her attention to Eddie, who was coming down the bleachers. She walked away from Bev and Richie, who were engaging in a conversation, and to Eddie. He walked in front of her with a smile. 

"That was a good shot," Eddie said. El smiled, giving Eddie a once-over. 

"Thank you," she said as Bev came barreling back over, picking El up from behind. Richie followed her, laughing, and threw an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

"I think we should celebrate," Richie stated, "with some good, sweet cannabis."

Bev laughed, nodding while El and Eddie both made noises of confusion.

"Uh, no?!" Eddie said, pulling away from Richie. "We're not doing drugs!"

"Aw, it's just weed," Bev said, nuzzling El's curls with her hands and smiling. Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Yeah! Weed... that kills you!" Eddie said. "I have asthma!"

Richie chuckled. "You'll survive, Eds."

Eddie put his hands on his hips. "Not if I have an asthma attack and die!"

Richie sighed.

El bit her lip under Bev's embrace, and quietly said, "Okay."

Bev screeched, hugging El and grinning. "Look at my girl go!" 

Richie shot a look at Eddie, pleading with his eyes. Eddie clenched his jaw, watching as Richie's tongue poked out to drag across his red, chapped lips, tugging his bottom lip back into his mouth with his teeth. Eddie closed his eyes.

"Fine!" Eddie said. "But I am not smoking anything."

Richie smirked, wrapping his arm around Eddie's neck and pulling him out of the gym, along with Bev and El. "That's the spirit, Eds."

They all hopped into Richie's Silverado and began their descent to the Tozier household. Richie said that his parents probably were not home, and if they were, they wouldn't give a shit what he did. Richie eventually pulled up in his driveway after a car ride filled with Guns N' Roses and the occasional Blondie song, requested by Beverly. Richie pretended to hate it while the girls and Eddie sang along to "Call Me", but the truth was that he was humming the words right along with them, secretly loving every second of it.

They all entered the Tozier house, finding it vacant and empty. El screwed up her nose at the odor inside, but Eddie noticed and quietly told her that she'd get used to it soon. They all went to Richie's room, where him and Bev immediately lit up. Eddie grimaced at the smell of the weed.

"That's disgusting," he says. "I don't know how you do it."

Richie smirks, blowing out a puff of smoke. "It's fantastic."

Eddie rolled his eyes, and turned to El, who was looking at them with disgust.

"Well, I guess we're the losers, now," Eddie joked. El smiled, nodding.

"Yeah," she said. "Big, fat losers."

Bev giggled, reaching over and grabbing El by the waist, tugging her over to sit next to her. El flinches away from the joint, which was now quite close to her face. Bev laughed loudly.

"It's not going to bite you," Bev teased, taking another drag.

"How the hell can you be a stoner and still be so good at basketball?" Eddie said, making Bev smile and shake her head.

"Because I'm Beverly Marsh," she said, extending her legs out and sighing. "I'm the best."

Richie rolled his eyes, along with Eddie. El just laughed. 

The room fell quiet again for a moment, and then suddenly Bev burst, saying, "Let's watch a movie!" 

Richie chuckled. "Uh, okay. What movie?"

"The Breakfast Club?" Bev suggest, and El quickly agreed. Eddie shrugged; he didn't really mind. Richie stood up, going to his shelf of movies and flipping through. When he didn't see the film, he turned back to Bev and shook his head.

"Don't have it," he said. "But I have Fast Times At Ridgemont High."

Eddie shook his head. "No! I don't wanna see Phoebe Cates' boobs!"

Richie groaned. "Why not?!"

Bev snorted, and El's face flushed as she held back a smile. Eddie scoffed.

"Because I'm, like, gay, Richie!" he said, which caused Richie to frown.

"You're destroying my bisexual needs, Eds," he says. "I can't be around you all the time and then not be able to see Phoebe Cates’ tits. I'm gonna go look in the living room for movies."

Richie left the room, Eddie sat on the floor with a blush on his cheeks. Bev let out a breath.

"God, the sexual tension between you two is ridiculous."

Eddie snapped his head to look over at Bev, who wore a smirk, watching him sputter to argue. 

"I've got Heathers!" Richie shouts from the living room, to which Bev responds with, "Give me the Christian Slater!" 

-

As they watched the movie, they all sat on Richie's living room couch in the darkness, with Bev and El invested heavily in the film. Eddie and Richie sat close, their bodies touching one another's, and Richie's hand had long ago felt its way onto Eddie's thigh. He was almost mindlessly begging Richie's hand to just move up a  _ little _ bit higher... 

Eddie looked over at the side of Richie's face, and he reached down slowly, placing his small hand on top of Richie's, linking their fingers.

Richie tightened his fingers around his thigh, squeezing slightly, and Eddie whined quietly, holding his breath. He didn't want Bev and El to hear. Richie leaned in, pressing a kiss to Eddie's neck.

"Want me to kick them out?" he whispered, referring to Bev and El, and Eddie was torn— a part of him wanted to be alone with Richie, dying to know what he'd do once it was only the two of them. But the rational part of him didn't want to heartlessly force the girls to leave, just so he could fool around with Richie.

Bev speaks up, then. "Shit, it's six thirty. El and I gotta go, Rich."

Richie pulled away from Eddie, taking his fingers off of him, and Eddie's eyes widened in sudden realization.  _ His mother! Oh, god, his mother was going to kill him! _

He stood up quickly, grabbing his things and saying, "Me too! My mom's gonna kill me!"

Richie bit his lip, disappointed. "Do you guys need rides?" 

Bev shook her head. "Nah, El lives quite close to you, and my dad knows I'm sleeping over there."

Richie grimaced at the mention of Beverly's father, but stays quiet. 

"Eds?" Richie asked, turning towards Eddie. He nodded nervously.

"Yeah," he answered. "But you can't drop me off straight at home. Mom can't see you."

"Oh, so I'm your dirty little secret now, huh?" Richie teased, ruffling up Eddie's hair and throwing an arm around his shoulders as they walked out of Richie's house with Bev and El.

"Bye, guys!" Bev waved as her and El began to walk down the road, away from where Eddie was hopping into Richie's car. 

The drive to Eddie's was silent, and when Eddie told him to park down the road, Richie didn't mind. He stopped his truck at the end of the street, and Eddie clutched his backpack, biting his lip. He looked up at Richie. 

"Thank you," he said, and rested his hand on the door handle, ready to leave, when suddenly he turned around and crashed his lips against Richie's, hard and fast. Richie gasped in surprise but melted into it almost immediately, feeling Eddie press against him, moving his legs to straddle Richie on either side of his body. Richie's hands gripped Eddie's waist tightly, and he trailed his mouth down the smaller boy's neck, reaching the spot right above his collarbone when Eddie let out a noise. Richie smirked against his skin.

"Found your sweet spot, Eds," he mumbled, beginning to suck on Eddie's skin there. Richie bit Eddie's neck, dragging his teeth away from the mark he'd just left. Eddie immediately brought their lips back together. 

"Rich," Eddie whined, and Richie pulled away, lips swollen and glasses slightly crooked. 

"Gorgeous," Richie whispered, trailing his eyes down Eddie's face with a smirk. Eddie leaned back in, pressing one last kiss against Richie's mouth, biting his lower lip and dragging it as he pulled away. 

"Gotta go," Eddie mumbled. "Mom'll be worried sick."

Richie frowned but nodded, opening up the driver's side door for Eddie to get out of, which he did. He grabbed his bag and stared at Richie.

"See you tomorrow?" Eddie asked, and Richie nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed. "See you tomorrow, Eds."

Eddie watched as Richie drove away, and he walked down the road to his own home. He opened the door slowly, seeing his mother sitting on the couch. She became angry when Eddie entered.

"Where were you?!" she exclaimed, coming up to her son and shooting him a glare. Eddie took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was at the basketball game like I said, and then afterwards I got hung up with my friend Beverly and I just didn't realize the time."

Sonia seemed to relax a bit, grateful that Eddie hadn't been with that Tozier boy.  _ If only she knew...  _

She sent him off, and he went to his room. Eddie laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and as he fell asleep that night, he thought of Richie's mouth against his, and the way he somehow tasted like both smoke and mint.


	7. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for attempted sexual assault in this chapter

_ 1985 _

Richie Tozier bit his lip as he sat cross legged on the floor of some girl's living room, looking around the circle of fellow thirteen and fourteen year olds as they prepare to play spin the bottle.

Richie looked over to Bev, who was overly excited to be at this party. It was an end-of-the-school-year party, one thrown by a girl that Beverly was friends with but Richie was not. He didn't really even know her name, truthfully, but he came with Bev because she had so nicely begged him to. His clunky glasses slipped down his nose as sweat began to compile there, and he watched silently as one girl spun first.

It landed on a boy that Richie vaguely knew and he watched as the girl giggled and leans in to peck his lips quickly. It was a pathetic kiss, granted, the fact that both of them were freshly-turned thirteen year old kids. Richie held his breath as the next girl spun, where it landed on some other boy, and they kissed. 

The first time a girl spun to another girl was when it hit Bev. She twisted the empty Pepsi bottle and it landed on a girl who was kind of new in town, but was here with her friend and soon-to-be-brother. She was quiet and shy, with shoulder length brown hair and a gaze that was lowered at all times. The room went silent, but Beverly just chuckled, pushing her long, red hair out of her face and behind her ear.

"It's just a kiss, guys!" Bev joked, beginning to crawl over to the girl. "It's not like we're getting married, chill out."

They quickly kissed, and immediately both girls erupted into laughter, which brought everyone else into a fit of giggles, even Richie, who had been on edge all night.

"I'm Beverly," she said, smiling at the girl as she sat back next to Richie. He took a deep breath, knowing he was next.

"Jane," the girl said with a soft smile. 

Richie calmed his breathing, and thought,  _ hell, it's just spin the bottle. It's just a kiss, like Bev said. Hey, maybe I'll even get Bev! Make it a lot easier on me, since we're best friends. _

Richie reached out and spun the bottle hard. He held his breath as it slowly came to a stop, pointed right at some random girl. His lip trembled as she giggled and leaned into the circle, him following hesitantly. She kissed him quickly, almost too quickly, and Richie let out a breath. It wasn't even bad. 

The game went on until they got through everyone, Richie, luckily, having to kiss nobody else, and then they all just began to hang out normally. 

Richie had gotten up to go to the bathroom at some point, and Bev, having been here before, told him where the bathroom was upstairs, because someone else was using the downstairs one. He walked there quickly, hearing light music playing from inside one of the rooms. He knew that the girl who lived here had an older brother. 

Richie got into the bathroom and did his business, just beginning to wash his hands when there was a jiggle of the knob, and then a knock.

"Oh, uh," Richie said, washing his hands quickly before opening the door. "Sorry. I was just about to leave."

The boy had to have been at least eighteen, with the shadow of facial hair and dark brown locks that fell against the nape of his neck in small waves. He was tall, about six foot, maybe, and he looked down at Richie with dark green eyes and a small smirk.

"You guys were playin' spin the bottle, huh?" he laughed, leaning up against the bathroom doorway and blocking the way out for Richie, who nodded.

"Lame," he said, pushing off and walking into the room, pushing Richie in with him, shutting the door behind them. Richie didn't hear him flip the lock.

"Was that your first kiss?" 

Richie nodded sheepishly, quite embarrassed at the moment. The man was attractive, and Richie tried not to think about that, ever since he'd made the horrifying conclusion that he may be attracted to boys as well as girls the other night. But the guy slowly backed Richie up against the wall, putting his hands on each side of Richie's head, the tip of his nose lining up with the top of Richie's hair. 

"That's a shitty first," he whispered, and Richie looked up at him through his lashes with red cheeks. "I could give you a better one."

Richie didn't speak, and the guy leaned down, connecting their lips. Richie had no clue what to do. This wasn't like it had been with that girl, this kiss already lasted longer than the first one had. He just let the man move his lips against his own, and got the clue that, maybe, he should open his mouth and let him slip his tongue inside, too.

Richie tried hard to keep his eyes closed, but they would open every once in a while to see what was going on, and he'd be met with the sight of tan eyelids and the feeling of a hand pressing against his crotch.

Now, Richie Tozier knew about sex and he knew about masturbation, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's ever done it, per say. He'd been waiting for the right time, waiting for... a reason, maybe. He never understood why someone would just jerk it when they aren't even turned on, and Richie didn't really get turned on. 

Richie shoved him, hard, yelping as the guy fell back against the sink. Richie stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth agape. He wanted to say something, he did, but—

“What the hell, kid?” the guy snapped, getting back to his feet fully. 

“I—” Richie tried, but the guy pushed him back against the door and tried to cover his mouth. Richie screamed into his palm, bringing his teeth down hard onto the skin, making the guy curse as he pulled his hand away.

“Fucking bitch, just let me touch you!” he yelled, and Richie’s hand scrambled for the doorknob, unlocking it and swinging the door open. He fell backwards out of the doorway, grabbing the wall to keep him from hitting the ground, and broke off in a run down the stairs.

When Richie was back downstairs, he went to Bev, who was laughing on the couch. He tapped her on the shoulder and whispered a small, "Can we go?"

Beverly's smile dropped to a frown but she nodded, asking her friend to use the phone. Richie looked at the clock on the wall and noted that it was almost nine o'clock, an hour and a half before Beverly's curfew for tonight, and almost felt bad about making her leave.

She called her father, who came and picked them up and drove Richie home. He sat in the backseat, staring at Al Marsh in the driver's seat, and wondered if that was how he treated Beverly— like he'd been treated himself in that bathroom. Richie knew, of course he knew. He knew what he did to her without Beverly ever having to say a word. 

Richie walked into his house slowly and went straight to his bedroom, where he finally noticed the pressure behind his eyes, that feeling of needing to bawl. He smoked half a pack of Marlboros and cried himself to sleep that night.

-

_ 1989– present _

Sonia Kaspbrak answered the phone after one ring, gripping it tight and holding it against her ear. "Hello?"

"Uh, is this Mrs. Kaspbrak?" 

Sonia furrowed her brows, not recognizing the voice as anyone who would call. "Yes. Who is this?"

"A... friend... of Eddie's," the voice said. "Is he there?" 

Sonia rolled her eyes, and put down the receiver.

"Eddie! Somebody's on the phone for you!" she yelled. It only took a few moments for Eddie to emerge from his room, running over to the phone and grabbing it, pressing it to his ear.

"Hello?" 

"Hey, hot stuff."

Eddie rolled his eyes, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Hi, Rich."

Richie smirked on the other line, laying down on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was high. Really high. Too high to be functioning. 

"Wanna come over?" he asked, blinking slowly. Eddie bit his lip.

"Sure," he agreed. "Gotta tell Mom, then I'll be on my way. See you soon."

Richie smiled. "Yeah. See you."

Eddie hung up the phone, and walked into the living room where his mother sat. He stood at the doorway of the room, and she looked up to meet his eyes. 

"Can I go to a friend's house?" he asks, shifting his feet in place. Sonia continued to look at her son, who was not-so-subtly avoiding her gaze.

"Who?"

Eddie bit his lip, taking a deep breath. "Uh, Stan. Stanley. Met him in school. He lives pretty close to here.”

Sonia slowly nodded, and turned back towards the television with a blank expression. "Don't stay out too late."

Eddie smiled, and nodded quickly. He ran to his mother and quickly kissed her on the cheek, then grabbed his backpack from his bedroom and got his bike from the garage, beginning the ride to Richie's.

-

When he got to the house, Eddie perched his bike on the wall by the garage and walked to the front door, knocking quickly three times. The door stayed closed. 

Eddie waited a few moments, before knocking again, and calling out, "Richie?"

With no answer from inside, he just decided to try the knob. It opened easily, unlocked, and Eddie slowly made his way into the house, closing the door behind him and beginning to walk to Richie's room. 

"Rich?" he called out, hoping for a reply, but received none. 

He got to his bedroom door, which was closed, and knocked a few times. There was, again, no answer.

Eddie opened the door slowly, to find Richie lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, unmoving. Eddie furrowed his brows as he got closer, see the way Richie's eyes were almost... glazed over. 

"Richie?" Eddie said again, quite closer to the other boy now, and gave him a quick shove. It seemed to break him out of his spell, because Richie jumped, blinking a few times and looking up and over at Eddie. 

"Eddie," he breathed out, rubbing his eyes quickly before pulling the boy down onto the bed next to him, wrapping his long arms around Eddie's shoulders. 

"What's going on?" Eddie asks, looking around Richie's room. He couldn't smell weed or cigarette smoke, not even alcohol. But there was no doubt in his brain that Richie was high right now— on something, whatever it may be.

Richie pulled away and blinked rapidly, almost as though he was trying to force an image to leave his brain. Eddie watched with silent fascination, barely trailing his eyes over to Richie's desk when he saw it. The line of powder, the Visa card that sat next to it. He looked back to Richie— blown-pupils, shaky jaw, rapid blinking— and he knew. 

"Are you on fucking cocaine?" Eddie asked, grabbing either side of Richie's face and forcing them to lock eyes. 

"Eds," Richie tried, but suddenly the entire room was spinning in his brain. He attempted to stand but it all intensified, causing his frame to buckle and fall back onto the bed, landing on his back against the mattress. He stayed looking up at the ceiling, seeing faraway shapes in his peripheral vision.

Eddie panicked. He didn't know how to deal with a drug trip! Do you give them water? Make them sleep? 

"Rich, I—”

Richie grabbed Eddie's wrist, pulling him down onto his chest. "Lay with me."

Eddie attempted to lift his head but Richie held him down. "You're high as a kite, Richie."

"I know," he whispered. "Just lay here until I feel human again. Please."

Eddie didn't say anything, but did as Richie had asked— laid his head against Richie's chest and felt it rise and fall underneath his ear. Richie breathed heavily, stroking his hand through Eddie's hair softly, staring up at the ceiling blankly. 

"Life is so shitty, Eds," Richie sighed, resting his fingers against Eddie's forehead and dragging them up into his hairline. "Be happy you’re not completely fucked up."

"Hey," Eddie said, lifting his head up and looking at Richie. This time, Richie let him. "You're amazing. Don't think that about yourself."

Richie blinked slowly, finally locking eyes with Eddie below him. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, forcing back the tears that were about to break their way through his eyes.

"Did I rush this?" Richie asks quickly, panicky, almost. "Did I come onto you too heavy?"

Eddie shook his head immediately, moving to straddle Richie's lap and kiss his lips softly. 

"No," Eddie whispered, pulling away to lock eyes with Richie below him. "You're perfect. You didn't rush anything."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his gaze shooting from Eddie's eyes to his lips quickly, rapidly.  Eddie nodded. "Yes. I'm sure."

And, then, they laid there together, until Eddie fell asleep in Richie's arms. He didn't think about his mother, or Richie's parents, or anything other than the fact that he was warm, and he was content.


	8. seven

Eddie woke up the next morning, body warm and lips already turned up in a small smile. That was, until he realized that he'd fallen asleep at Richie's house.

"Shit!" he screeched, sitting up and looking around wildly as Richie slowly fluttered his eyes open, looking up at the distressed boy.

"Hm?"

Eddie looked back down at Richie. "Mom! She's gonna freak out! Oh God, she's probably already called the police by now!"

Richie rubbed his face and sat up slowly, getting out of bed and throwing on a sweatshirt. "Want me to drive you home?"

Eddie's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "Richie! I spent the night at your house! She is going to kill me!"

He rolled his eyes slightly, grabbing Eddie by the sleeve and dragging him out of the house, passing by his passed-out father on the couch. 

Eddie hauled his bike into Richie's truck and got in the front seat, fingers tapping against the dashboard anxiously as Richie pulled out of the driveway, and began the drive to Eddie's home.

"Just pull up here," Eddie mumbled as they turned onto his street. Richie did as he was asked— pulled over to the side of the street, and Eddie opened the passenger door. He got out and walked around to the driver's side, tapping on the window once. Richie rolled it down and turned to lock eyes with Eddie, who stood on the tips of his toes to meet with Richie's eyes.

"Thanks for driving me home," Eddie said with a small smile. Richie mirrored the expression with a look of something like sadness in his eyes.

"Thank you for coming over last night," he said. "Probably would've gotten myself killed or something if you hadn't."

Eddie bit his lip and nodded, leaning in slowly and pressing a kiss to Richie's cheek. Richie smirked, bringing Eddie's mouth to his own, letting their lips connect for a moment before releasing.

"See you," Eddie said, leaning away from the car and grabbing his bike from the bed, walking back to the sidewalk with a smile on his face, walking down to his house.

He walked through the door slowly, holding his breath, and he was immediately met with a vicious hug surrounding him.

"Edward!" His mother cried, hugging him with all her might. He smiled and hugged her back, feeling guilty for worrying her.

"Hey, Mom," Eddie said, pulling away from her embrace. "I'm so, so sorry. I fell asleep last night, but as soon as I woke up, I was on my way home."

Sonia nodded. "It's okay, Eddiebear. Just be more careful next time, please? Or call me if you’re staying the night… you scared me half to death."

"I know, Momma. I'm really sorry."

Sonia smiled and shook her head, telling Eddie not to worry. He agreed, and went off to his bedroom. Crazy how much nicer she was when she believed Richie was out of the picture.

He listened to the radio for a bit, but when the stations stopped playing Bowie and started playing The Go-Go's, he got bored. Eddie flipped off the radio and laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, when he heard the phone ring.

He assumed his mother picked it up when it stopped, and not long after, she called for him, saying some girl was on the line. 

Eddie walked out, confused, and took the phone from his mother. "Hello?"

"Hi, Eddie," The voice said. "It's El."

Eddie's expression softened. "Oh! Hey, El! What's up?"

He sat down in the chair near the phone, leaning his elbows on the table. 

"Beverly's birthday is soon," she begins, "and I tried to call Richie about a party for her but he didn't answer. I know you and Bev haven't known each other long but I figured either you were with Rich or you could still help somehow."

"I'm not with him," Eddie said. "But I can totally help!"

El smiled on the other line. "Thank you so much, Eddie. We can talk more at school about it, see you then!"

They hung up the call and Eddie turned to meet his mother.

"Who's El?" she asked, tapping her foot against the tile of the floor. Eddie shrugged.

"Friend of Beverly's," Eddie said, but then realized that, technically, El was maybe his friend, too. "And me, I guess."

Sonia nodded slowly, walking back to her chair and turning on the TV.

He had  _ friends _ . 

Eddie went back to his room.

-

It was late, after sunset, the air cool as Richie's truck rattled as he pulled up on the side of Eddie's street, wrapping his jean jacket around himself as he got out of the car. Richie broke into a dead sprint towards Eddie's house, opting for his window rather than the front door in order to avoid his mother. He tapped on the glass of the window a few times, and waited.

It finally opened, and revealed Eddie in an oversized hoodie with knee socks pulled on over his legs. His eyes widened.

"Rich?!" Eddie whisper-yelled, pulling open the window all the way and sticking his head out of it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Richie smirked. "We're going to a concert. Get dressed."

Eddie shook his head, confused. "What? What concert? I—”

Richie pushed his way into Eddie's room, going to his closet and opening it up, looking at all of the clothes. Eddie scrambled to close the window.

"Richie! What if my mom comes in?!" Eddie said again, spinning the Richie to meet his eyes. Richie bit his lip, bending down to connect their lips slowly. 

"Shut up and stop worrying," he smiled, pulling away from Eddie and continuing to raid his closet. Eddie sat on his bed for what felt like years, until finally, Richie pulled out a pair of acid-wash jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. Richie smirked, eyeing the outfit. 

"Do you have scissors?" he asked, and Eddie shook his head rapidly with wide eyes.

"Nuh uh! You are not cutting my clothes up!" he screeched, taking the clothes from Richie and slipping on the jeans first, since he hadn't even had pants on under his hoodie in the first place. Then, he stared at Richie until he turned around.

Eddie slipped off the hoodie and on the shirt, looking over his appearance in the mirror. Richie turned back around and walked over to Eddie, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

"Mm, you look great," he mumbled, resting his chin on the top of Eddie's head. "Gorgeous."

Eddie blushed and pulled away from Richie's arms, turning to face him.

"Go out to your car. I'll be there in a minute. You better tell me where we’re going when I do.”

Richie agreed, leaving Eddie's room through his window, walking back to his truck and waiting.

Eddie walked into the living room, where his mother sat. "Hey, Momma?"

Sonia looked up from the TV. "Yes, honey?"

"Can I go to Beverly's? I'll call you if I end up wanting to stay over, but that isn't the plan at the moment..." Eddie trailed off, knowing that his mother would have said something about that. Sonia nodded.

"That's fine, Eddiebear. Need me to drive you?" 

Eddie shook his head. "No. I'll be fine on my bike. Thank you, Mom!"

He was off then, hoping on his bike and pedaling down the street to Richie's waiting car, throwing the bike in the bed and getting into the passenger seat.

"So, care to tell me what concert this is?" Eddie asked as they started to drive. Richie shrugged, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

"You ever heard of Nirvana?" Richie asked, laughing when Eddie gave him a look. “Of course not. They’re a new band, put out their debut album this year. Heard about this gig from a guy in the store earlier.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, looking over at Richie, taking in his appearance for the first time tonight. He wore an open, short-sleeved button up. It was dark blue, with several pins poked through the material. Under that was mustard yellow t-shirt, and dark jeans with rips on the knees from wear-and-tear and some from hacking away with scissors. On his feet were his signature Docs, and Eddie thought he couldn't have looked more amazing.

They drove for at least twenty minutes, which was a long time for a town as small as Derry, until they pulled up to a small venue. There was music coming from inside, that much was obvious, but it was all bands he knew, like AC/DC and Metallica, so Richie knew that they hadn't missed anything and the real band wasn't playing yet.

The bouncer at the door gave him a look as they approached. “Admission is fifteen each.”

Richie shot Eddie a smile, pulling out his wallet. He went through it for a moment, before digging out three tens and giving the cash to the bouncer. “For two, please. This is my dear Eds."

"Don't call me Eds," Eddie said quickly, shooting Richie a glare. Richie bit back a grin.

"My Eddie Spaghetti—”

"What the f—

"Edward Spaghedward—”

"Rich,  _ no— _ ”

"My sexy little Spaghetti head—

"Beep beep, Trashmouth!" Eddie shouted.

"Trashmouth..." Richie trailed off. "Wow, Eds, what a nice compliment."

The bouncer was just staring at the two of them, unimpressed. Richie flashed him a smile.

“Please just go inside,” the bouncer said bluntly, staring at Richie with a scowl. Richie’s smile dropped and he nodded, dragging Eddie into the venue. 

In fact, Richie pulled him all the way to the very front by the stage, where the speakers were  _ loud _ . Eddie held his hand with a death-grip, and Richie turned to him and smirked.

"Loosen up, Eddie!" he said happily. "We're 'bouta rock out, baby."

Eddie swallowed roughly as the main lights dimmed, and the crowd cheered as the first guitar riff sounded throughout the venue. Richie clapped loudly as the band filled the stage, starting out the first song with heavy drums and loud guitar. 

The next few songs were a huge blur for Eddie— he was actually having a lot more fun then he'd expected, felt a lot more relaxed than he had before, which is why he didn't refuse when Richie tugged him away from the crowd and towards the bar.

"What do you want?" Richie asked, turning to Eddie with a lazy smile. Eddie shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't drink... like... ever," he said, looking at the various liquor bottles that sat behind the bar tender. His eyes stopped their journey when he settled on a large bottle of blue substance.

"That," Eddie said, gesturing to the drink. "I want that."

"Blue Curaçao?" Richie asked, and Eddie shrugged and nodded. “You don't normally drink that on it’s own.”

"I don’t care! It’s bright blue and I want it."

Richie laughed and leaned over the bar to order. The bartender looks as though he's going to card them for a minute, but then simply nods and pours a shot of curaçao, handing it to Richie, who hands it to Eddie. 

"Is it gonna hurt?" Eddie asks, looking up at Richie through his lashes. He just laughs and shakes his head.

"No, babe. Just drink it," he says, and Eddie does.

It doesn't burn as much as he'd expect it to, but it still stings a bit going down. The aftertaste is somewhat bitter and mostly citrusy, blends of oranges and maybe some lime in there. He actually kind of enjoyed it, surprisingly, and watched as Richie took a swig of his beer.

"Not dead?" Richie said, watching Eddie as he sat down the shot glass on the counter. Eddie shook his head.

"Nah," he smiles. "Easy."

Eddie took a few more shots, because it was  _ easy,  _ and then suddenly they were in a corner with a man who held a tattoo gun.  _ When had he gotten so drunk? _

"Alright, who's goin' first?" the man said, looking between Richie and Eddie. Richie sat down his drink and slipped off his shirt, sitting on a chair with his back towards the man. 

"Left shoulder blade," Richie said his speech slurring a bit, and the man began to clean his skin, disinfecting it. "I want a date. In Roman numerals, here—"

Richie bent over to grab a piece of paper and a pen that sat on top of the man's things, writing out the characters quickly. "I don't care what font. Just do these numbers."

The man nods, and begins— the first impact on skin was painful, but Richie bit back the pain and soon enough, after taking a few swigs of his beer (with Eddie's help), he could barely feel the burn anymore.

It didn't take long at all— maybe fifteen minutes, until the artist was cleaning it once more and putting the plastic sheet over the fresh ink. Richie smiled, feeling the weight of his on his skin. "Your turn, Eds."

Eddie's eyes bulged out of his head. "No! I'm not getting a tattoo!" 

Richie smirked, standing up and grabbing his hand, settling him down on the chair. "It doesn't hurt. You'll be okay."

Then, he turned his attention to the tattoo artist. "Do it on his hip, so his mom can't see it."

"But Rich—” Eddie tried, but gave up when Richie pressed a quick kiss against his lips. 

"Please?" 

Eddie sighed, and unzipped his jeans, tugging them and the waistband of his boxers over, exposing his right hip. He held his breath as the man cleansed the area. 

Richie scribbled down another set of numerals, and handed it to the man. 

"Richie! Don't I get to choose my own tattoo?" Eddie protested, sending Richie daggers with his eyes. 

"Nope," Richie smiled. 

The smaller boy rolled his eyes, but instantly hissed out in pain as the needle connected with his skin. His eyes immediately filled with tears, and he found Richie's hand quickly. 

"Oh, fuck," Eddie whimpered, beginning to actually cry. Richie rubbed soothing circles into the boy's hand. 

"It's okay, baby," Richie whispered. 

"'Chee..." Eddie trailed off, his eyes screwing shut, gripping Richie's hand tighter.

Richie made a face. “‘Chee—?” 

“Shut up! It’s cute and I’m fucking hurting!” Eddie shouted, gripping Richie’s hand tighter.

And, before he knew it, he was done.

Eddie looked down at his hip, and read the digits through the plastic. 

III.VII.LXXII

He furrowed his brows. "What does it mean?"

Richie smiled, resting his head on Eddie's shoulders and looking down at the tattoo. "It's my birthday."

Eddie pulled back. "What'd you get?!"

Richie's lips twitched up into a bigger smile, a grin, even. "Yours."

He spun around to show his back to Eddie, who read the print carefully.

IX.III.LXXII

"I cannot believe you!" Eddie giggled, smacking the middle of Richie's back. Richie spun around again and threw back on his t-shirt, helping Eddie to stand up. 

"I want more of the carry-sound," Eddie mumbled with a giggle, and Richie furrowed his brows.

"What?" 

Eddie looked up at him eagerly. "The blue stuff!"

"Curaçao, Eds. Not carry-sound."

Eddie threw his head back and laughed as if that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard in his life.

"Yeah, that!"

-

After another thirty minutes of the band's set, Eddie was hammered. He was stumbling around the crowd as Richie followed like a worried mother. Eddie led him to the front entrance and turned to give him puppy eyes.

"Can we go home? I'm drunk," Eddie giggled, "and I wanna make out with you."

Richie raised a single brow, then nodded.

"Okay. Let's go home."

The boys left the venue, promptly sat in Richie's truck for three seconds, before Eddie flung himself over the seat and into Richie's lap, attaching their lips. Richie was careful not to push back against the seat too much with his shoulder as Eddie rolled himself down on Richie. He sighed in content, his hands resting against Eddie's lower back, where his spine dipped and curved to form his ass. Eddie rutted his hips down roughly.

His body went stiff with pain as he dropped his head against Richie's, feeling his hip burn with such intensity it scared him.

"What happened?!" Richie exclaimed, lifting Eddie's face up to lock their eyes.

"Hit m' tat," Eddie slurred. "Hurts, 'Chee."

Richie stifled a laugh at the nickname, and just nodded, shifting Eddie back over to his side of the car and started up the engine.

"I know, baby," Richie said. "Do you wanna stay over?"

Eddie nodded. "Momma can't see m' drunk, Rich."

Richie nodded, and began the descent back to the Tozier house, where he had Eddie call his mother and say he was going to stay over. He slurred through his speech, but just insisted he was sleepy, and when she let him off the line, he fell asleep immediately. And Richie held him all night.


	9. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for sexual assault

Bill Denbrough laughed loudly as he flicked a piece of crust towards Stan, who screeched and fell off of his seat into Mike's lap. The table erupted with laughter, Eddie's chest beginning to burn from all the laughing he'd been doing at lunch today.

He'd woke up with a killer headache after the concert the other night, but Richie had helped him through it. Nobody else has seen the tattoos yet, at least not Eddie's— he doubted Richie had kept his from Bev.

The boys settled down and Ben began to tell them that he was thinking about trying out track when the season came up, in order to get into shape. Mike told him that track sounded like a great idea. 

"Don't do it if you're only trying to lose weight, Ben," Stan said, taking a sip of his water. "Do it because you want to have fun."

Ben nodded, thanking his friend with a smile. Eddie admired the four boys' relationships with each other, and was grateful that they were kind enough to invite him into their little group, too.

"I-I can't w-wait f-for baseball s-s-season," Bill said with a cheerful smile, and Stan smirked a bit himself, looking up at Bill through his lashes.

"I can't wait to be your number one supporter, Big Bill," he said, to which Bill laughed and ran his hand through Stanley's curls. Stan just rolled his eyes and finished his sandwich.

"I can't wait to see you play, Bill!" Eddie exclaimed happily, drawing their eyes to him. "Hopefully you're as good as everyone sa—”

Eddie's sentence was cut off by arms around his torso and breath against his neck. He jumped in his seat, shouting in surprise and spinning around quickly to find Richie standing behind him with a sly smirk. Eddie glared up at him, but couldn't contain his own smile.

"Don't do that!" Eddie cried. "You scared me, Rich."

Richie laughed, ruffling up Eddie's hair, and the rest of the boys were completely and utterly silent, watching the ordeal. They couldn't believe that Richie Tozier— out of all people— was here, talking to Eddie. It seemed so shocking to them. Hell, they hadn't even seen Richie so much as smile in years until that moment.

"Hello, Spaghetti's friends," Richie waves to Bill, Stan, Mike, and Ben, who watched with great disbelief. Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Shut it, Trashmouth," he giggled, and Richie bent down to his height, resting his index finger against Eddie’s jaw and turning him to face Richie, connecting their lips slowly. Eddie practically melted into it, but had enough self control to break it off before it got too out of hand. Their mouths broke apart slowly and softly, and Richie leaned in to whisper into Eddie's ear, laying his hand on Eddie's hip, directly over his tattoo.

"Just wanted to say hi. See you later," he said, sending a chill down Eddie's spine, and with that, Richie strolled away and out of the cafeteria. 

"What the fuck was that?!" Stan exclaimed, bringing Eddie back to reality. He spun around quickly, locking eyes with each of the four boys at the table, who all held the same expression. 

"Richie and I," he started, biting his lip. "We, uh, we're—”

"Did you bang him?" 

Eddie's eyes widened. "What?! Stan! No!" 

Stan shrugged, and going back to his food and conversation with Ben as if nothing happened. 

-

Richie came home to a lot of yelling.

He opened the door slowly, hearing the unmistakable sound of his father screaming at his stepmother, and Richie attempted to sneak into his room unnoticed, until the front door slammed shut loudly behind him. He sighed in frustration.

"Richard?" His father groaned from the kitchen. "Come here."

Richie dropped his bag and drug his feet into the room, where he saw his stepmom sat down at the table with a beer bottle in her hand and a blank look in her eyes. Went grabbed Richie's arm, sitting him down next to Maggie at the table and slamming his large hands down on the surface.

"Why the fuck was there beer in your room?" he growled, getting close to Richie's face, to where he could smell alcohol on his breath. He cringed, looking away from his father.

"Because I was drinking it," Richie let slip, and,  _ wow, there I go again, _ he thought.  _ Trashmouth is a pretty appropriate name for me. Can't ever seem to keep my mouth shut, huh? _

His father draws back immediately and clenched his fist. 

"You do not talk to me that way, boy!" Went yelled, spit flying onto Richie's glasses and face. Richie felt his jaw start to tremble.

"Go to your fucking room," his father sneered. "And fucking stay there."

Richie stood up angrily, pushing past the man and snatching his bag off of the ground, making back towards his bedroom and slamming the door. 

"Fuck," Richie whispered, beginning to pace. He was beginning to panic in frustration. And when Richie was frustrated... he wanted drugs.

He searched his dresser, and his desk, and his bed and his bag and his entire damn room, no sign of pot or coke anywhere, just lousy cigarettes that just couldn’t numb it. The tips of his fingers began to shake, and he ran fidgety hands through his damp curls, where sweat began to bead up rapidly. When the hell had he gone through all of it?

Before he even knew what he was doing, Richie was climbing out of his window and sprinting to a sadly familiar house, one that was run down as all hell and completely desolated. He banged on the door and rolled back and forth of the heels of his feet, waiting for the man to open the door. 

When he did, Richie gave him one look and the man let him inside. 

The home belonged to Xavier Ross, Richie's dealer. He didn't come here very often— most times, Xavier came to Richie's place to give him his shit, but that obviously wasn't an option tonight and he needed to get high.

Xavier gathered up all the things Richie wanted— cocaine, marijuana, even some LSD to spice it up a bit. He held out the brown bag to Richie, who took it and turned to leave, when Xavier grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around.

"Ah ah ah," he tutted, "not that easy, Tozier."

Richie furrowed his brows. "Look, man, one more shift at the pharm and I'll have the money, okay?"

Xavier shook his head. "Nah. I'm impatient. You’re a fag, right?"

“Wha—?”

“I think,” Xavier said, stepping forward towards Richie. “you know what I mean, Tozier. I think you should just let me do what I want to you as payment.”

In that moment, Richie felt a piece of himself fade away entirely. Xavier's face held a ghost of the boy whose name he never learned at thirteen years old, the boy who ruined the way he saw himself, his  _ sexuality _ . 

Richie didn't even fucking care what happened to him, now. And when Xavier pushed him against the wall hard, hands digging painfully into his hips, and started kissing up his neck, Richie thought of Eddie. He thought of how he felt today when Eddie smiled in the cafeteria, remembered kissing him softly, and, to his own surprise, Richie began to cry. It wasn't much, but a fear tears did slip out of his eyes. And maybe it was the pain, maybe it really pushed him over, but something deep down in his chest told him it wasn't the physical aching anymore.

And, oh, how he wished he was high.

Xavier’s hand was in his pants. It didn't last long. Or, maybe it did. He was just trying to forget. 

When Xavier was shoving him out the door with his drugs, Richie just wiped his face and walked out, trying to keep his cool. 

He felt dirty. He felt fucking filthy. 

He walked home slowly, in silence, and it took longer than he had expected— maybe because Richie subconsciously walked around Derry three times instead of going straight home. He hadn't even realized the sun had began to set until it was dark, and, with no concern, he laid down in the middle of Neibolt Street and stared up at the sky. He felt tears pool in his eyes and slip down the sides of his face. 

Richie had thought he was done hurting from this.  _ I guess it never really goes away. huh? _


	10. nine

Eddie desperately needed to speak with Richie, ask him what the two were— together? Not? It was confusing the hell out of him, and he wanted to know if he could call Richie his boyfriend or not.

His mother had asked him to run to the pharmacy and grab some things along with his refills. Eddie pedaled fast on his bike, flying down the sidewalk to the store. He set it down outside against the wall and walked in, going straight to the counter where Richie was leaned up against, counting coins.

"We need to talk," Eddie said, putting his hands down on the counter as Richie looked up. A frown took over his face.

"What's wrong?" Richie asked, walking around the counter to meet Eddie, not taking his hands but holding his fingers close enough to Eddie's own where they could both feel the heat between them.

"What are we?" Eddie asked in a low whisper, looking around to make sure nobody could hear. Richie bit his lip.

"What do you want to be?" he asked, because he knew that he was supposed to ask that. Richie was so scared of commitment, scared of calling Eddie his boyfriend or calling himself Eddie's. Nothing good ever came out of love. Hell, look at his parents— they were in love once, he knew that much, but soon enough, it all went to shit. He wondered the same about Eddie's mother— he knew his dad had died when he was young, but had they been in love? Had he been a good dad? 

"Yours," Eddie whispered, getting a little closer and rising to his toes. Richie swallowed the lump in his throat at the word. His. Eddie being his. It was appealing— of course it was, knowing Eddie wouldn't run off with anybody else, knowing that he could have the privilege of Eddie Kaspbrak as a whole. But the other half of him knew that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be good for him. He was too bad of an influence, too fucked up.

"Eds," he started, watching the look on Eddie's face fall, saddening. "I'm not good for you."

"Where’s this coming from? You're perfect for me, Rich," he shot back. "You're funny, and sweet, and, not to mention, drop dead gorgeous—”

"I'm like a leech," Richie interrupted. "Once you get me, I'm gonna end up draining you. You'll be so miserable, Eddie."

Eddie shook his head, actually taking Richie's hands in his this time. "You're not a leech. You're Richie Tozier, and I want to be with you."

"Prove it."

Eddie raised his brows and fell back flat onto his feet. He looked behind Richie at the rest of the store, and then back to him.

"Get my refills, and I will."

Richie nodded and walked further back behind the counter, telling Mr. Keene to get Eddie's things for him. He watched as Eddie walked to a few aisles, picking up some things and bringing them to the back counter. Richie rang him up without words, making sure his boss didn't think anything out of the ordinary between the two. Eddie got his prescriptions and left the store, whispering to Richie that he'd be waiting in his truck.

Richie turned to face his boss. "Is it my break yet?"

Mr. Keene looked at the clock on the wall and shrugged. "Sure, Tozier."

Richie smiled and thanked him, hopping over the counter and walked out the door, going to his truck. Eddie was in shotgun, flipping through Richie's cassettes. 

"Hey," Richie said, entering the driver's seat with a small smile. Eddie looked up and smirked, leaning in and connecting their lips quickly.

"Mm," Richie mumbled, feeling Eddie climb into his lap and straddle his hips. Richie drew small circles over the ink on his skin. He supposed that they were in this position quite often, mostly in his car, too.

Eddie trailed his hands— which were surprisingly cold— up the hem of Richie's t-shirt, ghosting over his abdomen. Richie gasped as the temperature, hissing as Eddie pressed his fingers into his ribs.

"Your hands are so cold," Richie whispered, kissing up Eddie's neck slowly. Eddie shivered, pressing his blunt nails into Richie's skin. 

"Is this you proving it to me?" Richie asked, laughing when Eddie pulled back and shot him a glare.

"Shut up, and maybe you'll get more," Eddie teased, dragging his nails down Richie's chest and stomach to the waist of his jeans. Richie smirked, leaning his head back and letting Eddie unbutton his jeans slowly. He was trying not to let this get to him.  _ Stop thinking about memories. _

"Not here," Eddie whispered, and then suddenly got completely off of Richie and sat in the passenger seat. "Let's go to your place. Mom's home, so we can't do mine."

Richie groaned, but stuck the key in the ignition anyway, looking over at Eddie, who held a shit-eating grin.

"You're going to be the death of me, Kaspbrak."

Eddie nodded. "I know."

Richie began driving down the road, laughing. "Oh, so you want me to die?"

"I never said that!" Eddie defended, flipping through Richie's cassettes again. "Ever heard of a little death?" 

Richie scoffed. “Oh, and  _ I’m  _ the trashmouth?!”

Eddie burst into a fit of laughter. He had never felt happier than he did when he was with Richie. It was like something had been missing his entire life, and Richie was just... somehow... that. 

He smiled after his laughing fit was over, and popped a Bowie tape into the player. He leaned back against the seat and stared out the passenger window as they made a right turn onto the next street. "Heroes" began to fill the car.

Richie looked left to make sure nobody was fast approaching from the side. Eddie watched as a red convertible came speeding down the right side, the street they were turning onto, swerving and driving on the completely wrong side of the road.

"Richie," Eddie said, and it sounded like an echo in his brain. He sat up straighter. 

"Richie!" he screamed, and when Richie turned forward again, they were colliding head-on with the convertible.

-

When Eddie woke up, his head hurt. It pounded with the intensity of a migraine. 

He sat up slightly and looked around at the hospital room. There was a nurse with their back turned to him, writing something down on a clipboard.

"Hello?" Eddie mumbled out, and the nurse turned around. She smiled, walking to Eddie's bedside. 

"You're awake," she said, mostly to herself. "Do you need anything?"

He shook his head slowly, and watched as she began to leave the room before perking up again. "Where's Richie Tozier?"

The nurse turned to look at him. "Your friend? The driver? He's in the ICU. His head went through the windshield."

Eddie's eyes widened, his breathing picking up quicker. The nurse noticed this and rushed to his side, calling for the doctor and attempting to calm him down.

"Inhaler," Eddie gasped out. "I need—”

She grabbed an aspirator, one that was definitely not Eddie's, but helped anyway. He supposed it was the hospital's. 

His breathing was still violent and sporadic. The doctor entered and dismissed the nurse, and sat down on the chair next to Eddie's bed.

"Hello," The doctor said. "I'm Dr. Taylor."

Eddie wheezed for a moment. "E-Eddie."

"I know," Dr. Taylor said. "What do you remember from this afternoon?"

"Uh," Eddie began, taking a few deep breaths to get his breathing under control. "We were driving, and then a red convertible was driving on the wrong side and we c-crashed."

"All right," he said, nodding. "Was your friend wearing a seatbelt?"

Eddie shrugged. He truly didn't know if Richie had his seatbelt on or not. Eddie knew that he had his own on.

"He's a good driver," Eddie said, trying to defend Richie. "It was that other car's fault."

The doctor nodded. "I know. She was drunk."

Eddie raised his brows. "Who was it?"

"Greta Keene," the doctor said. "Ring a bell?"

Eddie nodded.

"She died at the scene."

"O-Oh," Eddie mumbled, looking down at his legs. 

"Your friend..." the doctor trailed off. "He should be dead, truthfully. But he's fighting, kid. He really is."

Eddie nodded slowly, feeling tears fill his eyes. 

_ He should be dead. _

_ But he's fighting. _

Eddie loved that. Loved to hear that he was fighting to stay alive. Because he knows how Richie feels— knows that if he really wanted to, he would just let himself die with no hesitation. Eddie liked to believe that he part of was the reason Richie was fighting for his life. 

"How am I?" Eddie asked, thinking of his own injuries for the first time. The doctor chuckled.

"There's not much wrong with you, don't worry," he reassured. "Just some cuts and bruises, a concussion at the most. You hit your head on the side of the car and it knocked you out."

Eddie nodded, feeling a lot better knowing that he wasn't completely fucked up. 

"Is my mother here?" he asked, clenching his eyes shut, waiting for the answer. The doctor sighed.

"Yes," he said. "She's been begging to see you for the last two hours."

"Does she know about Richie?" 

"No," he said. "We haven't given her that information, just said you were in a car accident. Would you like her to know about that?"

"No!" Eddie cried, much louder than he probably should have with this headache he was suffering from. He groaned and fell back against the pillows. "No. Don't tell her I was with him.

"What, Mom doesn't approve of your friend?" Dr. Taylor chuckled, standing up and adjusting some of the equipment in the room. Eddie nodded.

"You could say that."

It was a few more minutes before Sonia burst into the room with a nurse. She gasped when she saw him lying in the bed, rushing to his side and sitting down in the chair.

"Eddiebear," she said sadly. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugged. He really didn't want to see her. He wanted Richie.

"Were you driving with one of your friends? Because you know I don't want you behind the wheel—”

"No, Momma. I wasn't driving." 

"Then who was?" 

And that's when Eddie knew he couldn't lie to her anymore. She was going to find out about Richie sooner or later— perhaps now was the time, after all.

"Richie Tozier was, Momma." 

Sonia's eyes widened beyond belief, and her face grew red in anger. "Excuse me?"

Eddie swallowed roughly and bit his lip. "I know, I'm sorry—”

"I can't believe you," she said, shaking her head in disappointment. "Can't believe you lied to me."

"He's my friend, Mom," Eddie said. "I like spending time with him. Why can't you just be happy for me?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. 

"I'll check you out."

She left in silence, and Eddie bit back tears.

When he finally got dressed and out to the lobby, Eddie looked to his mother with a sad expression.

"Just let me go see him. Please."

Sonia sighed angrily, but dismissed him off to go to Richie's room. He practically ran, unaware that she was following him. 

He got to the room after asking his doctor, and walked in slowly. Richie was in the bed, bandages covering practically his entire face except for his eyes, nose, and mouth. He was bruised and cut all over, with a wire in his nose to help him breathe. His eyes were shut, and his glasses were on the side table. Eddie noticed they were completely mangled and broken. 

Eddie walked over to him slowly, placing a small hand over Richie's unmoving one. To his surprise, Richie's eyelids fluttered open— droopy, but still open.

"Hi, 'Chee," Eddie whispered, tears springing to his eyes again. Richie's lips morphed into a weak smirk. 

"Hey, baby," he said, voice hoarse and raspy. Eddie broke into a grin at the name, though, happy to see that despite it all, Richie was still Richie. 

"Like it when I call you that?" Richie joked, lifting a battered hand up to cradle Eddie's warm face. He melted into the touch, kissing Richie's palm. "This is what my sex voice sounds like."

Eddie giggled, holding Richie's hand over his face. He looked at Richie below him like he hung the stars in the sky.

"I'm just happy you're alive, Rich," Eddie said, taking Richie's hand off of his face and placing it back on the bed gently.

"You know," Richie started, lifting his hand up again (much to Eddie's concern) and running his fingers across Eddie's lips, tugging them between his fingertips. "For once, I am, too."

"God, I wanna kiss you so bad right now," Eddie whispered, eyeing Richie's bruised and swollen lips, the dark red slash in the center of his bottom lip vibrant against his pale face. 

"Do it," Richie said. "I don't mind."

"I don't wanna hurt you," Eddie said, stroking Richie's hair slowly, trying not to pull at all.

"You could never hurt me."

"Eddie, come on." The knocking at the door frame cut them off. Eddie turned quickly to see his mother standing in the doorway. He backed away from Richie, looking over at him one last time.

_ Call me. Please _ , he mouthed. Richie smiled.

_ Of course _ , he mouthed back.

Sonia didn't mention a word to her son about what she had seen.  _ Perhaps today is not the best day to gnaw him out for it _ , she thought.


	11. ten

Eddie woke up the next day feeling quite the same he had the night before. Like shit.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and getting out of bed. He wished Richie was out already. He didn't want him to be suffering in a hospital bed with a major concussion and full-body aching, agonizing pain. 

He shuffled through his closet, letting his fingers linger over the shirt he had worn the night of the concert with Richie. He felt tears spring to his eyes, but pushed them down quickly.

Eddie tugged a few clothing items out of the closet and threw them down on the bed, stripping out of his current sweater and shorts for a yellow t-shirt and jeans. He walked into the bathroom silently, shutting the door and beginning to brush his teeth. After finishing, he stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, taking in his appearance. He had the fading marks of bruises and scratches across his skin in various locations. 

Lifting the hem of his shirt out of his jeans, Eddie pushed down the waistbands of his boxers and jeans to look at the tattoo on his hip. He'd been taking good care of it, putting lotion on it like the man had said. To his surprise, it wasn't infected— something he'd definitely anticipated, since they hadn't been at a proper parlor. It didn't even hurt anymore. And Eddie loved it.

He tucked his shirt back into his jeans and fluffed up his hair a bit, exiting the bathroom and going back into his room where he retrieved his things for school and walked into the living room. His mother wasn't there.

Eddie bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment. 

He slipped on white converse and left the house, beginning the walk to school for the first time since the crash, since his bike had been destroyed in the accident when it flew out of the bed of Richie's truck and into a ditch.

And goddamnit, he loved that fucking bike.

-

As he walked to calculus, Bill, Stan, Mike, and Ben caught up with him. Eddie’s mood was dull, knowing he'd have to go to calculus without Richie's company. Stan frowned as he noticed the negative aura from his friend.

"What's up?" Stan asked, walking fast to keep up with Eddie as they headed towards his class. Mike, Ben, and Bill stuck close behind, letting the two have their space for the moment being.

"Rich is still in the hospital," Eddie mumbled, trying his best to keep quiet. "I just miss him."

Stan nodded, looking over when he heard the sound of a girl sobbing slightly. It was a friend of Greta Keene's. 

"Cheer up, Eddie!" Mike said, joining the conversation and throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulders. "He'll get better, man. I promise."

Eddie nodded sadly as they approached his calculus class.

"Bye, guys," he said, walking into the room. Stan watched him go with a slight frown, and Bill laid a hand on his shoulder.

"H-He'll b-b-be okay, S-Stan," Bill reassured, which made Stan perk up slightly. He nodded, and the four boys walked away.

Eddie sat in his usual seat, the emptiness of Richie's chair making him uncomfortable. He hated him not being here. It felt wrong.

Head down, Eddie traced his fingers across the desk’s surface, not even aware that he was spelling out Rich over and over again, until somebody cleared their voice next to him.

He looked up to see the redhead that sits in front of them— Max— staring at him. She offered a small smile when they locked eyes. "Where's Tozier?"

Eddie frowned again, biting his lip. He took his hands off of the desk and let one fall to his hip, letting his fingertips sit over the area of his tattoo. "In the hospital. Heard about the car accident with Greta Keene? He— we— were in it."

Max nodded sadly, putting her elbows on the desk and watching as Eddie's gaze fell to his lap. 

"Well, he's alive, right?" Max said, making Eddie look back up at her. "That's a plus. Greta wasn't so lucky."

"Greta was a cunt," Eddie spit out, much louder than he had expected. A few people turned to look back at him, including a girl who had been quite close with her. She sniffled loudly, before bursting out in tears again. 

"Sorry," he whispered, looking down again. "I just miss him."

"Are you two together?" Max asked, lowering her voice in case of anybody still listening. Eddie shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. The teacher walked in the door, and the two broke apart from their conversation. Max turned back forward with a sigh, and Eddie let his head slump, tracing Richie's name into the wood, over and over again.

-

At lunch, it was all the same: banter about nothing important, Stan asking them stupid questions about English class that only Bill and Ben seemed to be able to answer. They were all talking about Mike's new car when another presence joined them at the table.

"Hey, Eddie!" Beverly exclaimed, throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulders and pulling him into a headlock. “Just wanted to come say hi. See how you’re doing.”

Eddie laughed and shoved her away gently. 

"Hey, Bev," he smiled. 

Meanwhile, Ben Hanscom was practically shaking. He was completely frozen in place, staring at Beverly Marsh with a look of pure fear and adoration on his face. He'd been in love with her for the past five years, when he first arrived to Derry in the eighth grade. They never really spoke, but he'd talked to her enough to know she was way out of reach for a boy like him. She was brave and fearless, beautiful and charismatic. 

Bill noticed this, and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to calm him. He knew about Ben's crush, and understood— for he'd once had a small crush on Bev Marsh, too. 

"How's your day been?" Beverly asked, picking at Eddie's food and stealing a couple of fries. He rolled his eyes and swatted her hand away.

"Shitty without Rich," he said. Bev nodded.

"Yeah. I miss him too, Eddie," she said, pressing a hard kiss to the top of his head, before turning to the rest of the table.

"Hello, friends," Beverly smiled, noticing Bill also had a plate of fries. She leaned over the table and took a handful, to which Eddie gasped and smacked her arm lightly.

"Hey! Don't steal Bill's food!" he exclaimed, turning to Bill, who just looked confused. "Sorry, Bill."

"It's fine," he said, still not quite understanding what had just happened. Ben was actually shaking now. 

"You okay, Ben?" Beverly asked, noticing his shaken-up mood, eating the fries she'd taken from Bill. Ben froze completely, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"Y-Yeah," he stuttered out, sounding much like Bill. "P-Perfectly fine."

Ben was thinking:  _ She knows my name?! _

Bev nodded, nudging Eddie's side one last time. "Gotta go back to El. See you guys!" 

Eddie waved as she walked away, worn combat boots scuffing the ground, and turned back to each of his friends.

"Holy shit," Ben breathed out slowly. The boys all broke into a fit of laughter.

-

Eddie went home with Bill that day, with the knowledge that Stan, Ben, and Mike would come around at some point, too. 

Bill drove them to his home, where Eddie intended to call his mother and tell her about his whereabouts. He knew she would probably doubt him now, since she knew he'd been lying about hanging around with Richie, but at least this time he wasn't lying to her.

They arrived at the Denbrough house after stopping to get food at a small diner that Bill adored— they got takeout, because Eddie didn't feel like waiting around in the place. When they got home, Bill led him inside and told him he'd take their things to his room. Eddie took this as an opportunity to look around a bit.

The living room wasn't huge but it wasn't small, either, a nice couch perched against the wall with a coffee table in front of it, a TV on top of a cabinet at the head of the room. It was filled with family photos all around, and Eddie could see the glimmer of a grand piano in the doorway of the kitchen area.

"Hello?" A voice called, and a boy ran into the living room. He was taller than Eddie but definitely not Richie, with light brown hair falling over his eyes in a fringe-like style. He couldn't have been older than thirteen.

_ Why is Eddie shorter than a thirteen year old?! _

"Uh, hi," Eddie said. 

The boy looked confused, too, until Bill came barreling down the stairs and scuffed up his hair. 

"H-H-Hey, G-Georgie," he smiled, and then walked over to Eddie. 

"This is E-E-Eddie. He's m-my f-friend."

The boy, Georgie, shrugged. "I miss Stan. He's my favorite."

"I k-know," Bill laughed, and began to lead Eddie upstairs. 

"Is that your brother?" Eddie asked, and Bill nodded. 

George Denbrough— better known as Georgie by Bill and all of his friends and family— was twelve, just turned recently, and was in his sixth grade year at Derry Middle School. Bill loved him to death.

"I'm glad you guys get along," Eddie said with a smile as they both started on their homework.

"Y-Yeah," Bill agreed. "M-Me t-t-too."

-

When Eddie went home that day at around five o'clock, he walked in the front door of his home to see his mother asleep on the chair.

So, he walked to the phone and dialed the number that was written on a paper next to it, and waited. And waited. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi, Richie."

"Oh, hi, Eds," Richie croaked, his voice still severely hoarse and grainy. Eddie didn't mind. Just wished he could see him, but his mother refused to drive him there. 

"So," Eddie smiled, “Do you know when you’re getting out?”

Richie sighed. “I don’t, babe. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie said, twiddling his fingers.

"I wish I was with you," Richie said. Eddie agreed, nodding, even though he was well aware he couldn't see him.

"I know," Eddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. "My mom is pissed."

"About me?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Eddie said. "I'll let you go. Try and sleep. Try and get better, Trashmouth. I miss you."

Richie smirked. "Okay, Eds."

Eddie bit back a grin. "Bye, 'Chee."

"Bye, baby."

He clicked the phone back onto the wall and sighed.

_ What the hell _ , Eddie thought,  _ Richie's got me whipped. _


	12. eleven

Richie's first day out of the hospital was a shitty one. His car was still getting repaired, and his parents didn't care enough to come pick him up, so he had to walk. Then, when he got home, his father screamed at him for twenty minutes, before sending him off to his room. He slammed the door with a groan.

All he wanted was Eddie. He just wanted to see him. 

Richie supposed he probably shouldn't sneak out, shouldn't piss off his father even more, but the rational side of his body was buried as he opened his window and flung himself out of it. 

He practically ran to Eddie's house, and decided that,  _ well, Mrs. K knows about me now. Might as well knock at the front door like a gentlemen. _

Richie wanted to make a good impression. That didn't happen very often. 

Walking up to the front door, Richie knocked a few times, rolling back and forth on his feet until the door opened. And Eddie's mother stood there, with a scowl so strong it could have killed him. 

"Hi, Mrs. Kaspbrak..." he said, scratching the back of his neck anxiously, before quickly straightening up again. He was going to be a confident boy, somebody that she could see as good for her son. "Is Eddie here?"

She stared at him, expressionless. "He's asleep."

"Oh," Richie said. He hadn't planned for this. 

He tried to make his expression as sad as possible, slouching his back and biting his lip and looking down, hoping that she'd let him in and he could go sit with Eddie and play with his hair, and when he eventually woke up, they could embrace and kiss and he could feel whole again.

"I suppose you could come in anyway," she said suddenly. Richie looked up quickly, a smile forming on his lips.

"Thank you," he said as she opened the door for him. He closed it behind himself, looking back to her.

"Uh, we haven't properly met, I guess," he said. "I'm Richie."

"I know," she says, and walks back into the kitchen, leaving Richie dumbfounded in the doorway.

_ Well, okay, then _ , he thinks, and makes his way to the single hallway of their home, looking through all the open doors before spotting a single closed one at the end of the hall. 

He turned the knob slowly, and entered the room, where Eddie laid, asleep on his bed. Richie let out a sigh of relief.

Because of how dark it’d been the night of the concert, Richie hadn't been able to really  _ see  _ Eddie’s room. But it was exactly how Richie had pictured it— clean. And cute.

He walked to Eddie's bed, kneeling down next to him and running his fingers through his hair. He noticed the way his lips were slightly parted as he breathed heavy, warm breaths, eyelashes twitching softly against his cheeks. 

"Eds," Richie whispered, slightly shaking Eddie awake. Eddie's eyelashes fluttered open, eyes filled with drowsiness until he realized who was in front of them.

"Richie!" he exclaimed happily, leaping off of the bed and into Richie's arms, who laughed, falling back against the floor.

Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie's torso, burying his face in his neck. "I missed you so much."

Richie smiled, hugging him back. "I missed you too, princess."

"Princess?" Eddie asked, pulling back with a glare. Richie chuckled and nodded, pecking the boy's lips quickly.

"Yes," he said. "You're my princess."

"Gross," Eddie snickered, before pressing their lips together firmly. Richie's smile fell away as Eddie pushed him further into the ground, trailing his kisses down Richie's neck with a smile. 

"I can tell you're sad, babe," Eddie said, pulling back and smiling at Richie. "I want to make you feel better, so come on."

Richie groaned. "I just wanna lay here all day."

Eddie shook his head, tugging Richie to his feet. Richie complied, standing and following Eddie to his living room. "Mom?"

Sonia looked up at the boys. "Yes?"

"Can Rich and I go out for a bit?"

"No."

Eddie scowls. "Momma—”

"No. You're staying here."

He groaned and tugged Richie back into his room, slamming the door. 

"I tried," Eddie said, and flopped down on his bed. Richie laughed. 

"I'd rather spend my day here with you, anyway," he smiled, laying next to Eddie and turning to face him. Eddie noticed the difference in Richie's glasses for the first time. 

"New frames?" he asks, bringing his fingers up to Richie's glasses. They were brown, bigger—yet somehow thinner— than his last, and still made his eyes look huge.  _ He looked quite cute, _ Eddie thought. 

"Yeah," Richie said, taking them off and squinting at them. "Other ones were fucked."

Eddie giggled as he felt Richie slide his glasses onto his own face. Eddie cracked an eye open, but it was insanely blurry with the glasses on, and he ended up squinting right back at Eddie.

"Holy shit, you look adorable, stay there," Richie exclaimed, rolling off of Eddie's bed and grabbing his Polaroid off of the desk, snapping a quick picture of Eddie before he could say no. The smaller boy groaned and removed the glasses. 

"Rich!" he trailed off, snatching the half-developed photo from him and throwing it at Richie's face. He put his glasses back on, and frowned. 

"Don't assault me," Richie said, jumping onto Eddie, sending him back onto the bed with a yelp.

"You're so hyper," Eddie said, tucking a stray curl behind Richie's ear. He rests his head on Eddie's chest, locking their eyes again. The two boys just stared at each other, into each other's eyes, and when Richie suddenly had the overwhelming urge to tell Eddie that he loved him, he felt like gasping for breath.

"Rich?" Eddie asked, watching the way Richie's face went slack and paler than normal, his gaze falling from Eddie's concerned eyes. He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths.

"Richie, what's wrong?" Eddie asked, more frantically now, and Richie shook his head, finally catching his breath.

"Nothing, Eds," he said, sitting up. "I'm okay. Promise."

"Why are you lying?" Eddie asked. 

Richie looked over at him, and it was then that he could no longer contain it— couldn't hold his feelings in anymore. 

"Be my boyfriend," Richie said, quick and sudden. Eddie's breath hitched in his throat, and he felt a smile grow on his lips. 

"Yeah. Okay," Eddie whispered, and now Richie was grinning, too. Their lips connected quickly and Richie felt like his mouth was on fire. Eddie pushed Richie back, straddling his waist, and his hands flew to the sides of Richie’s face. He trailed them up to his hair, digging his fingers in the curls there. Eddie's mouth trickled down to Richie's neck, first leaving small kisses, then progressing to ones more firm, then to bites, and soon enough, Richie had a hickey staining his pale neck. Eddie dragged his tongue across the skin, and pulled on Richie's hair.

Richie's hands gripped Eddie's thighs, and Eddie's toes curled where they were situated next to Richie's knees.

Richie sat up, keeping Eddie in his lap, and pulled off Eddie’s shirt, attaching his lips to Eddie's chest. He nipped at him, then immediately soothed the mark with a soft kiss. He moved to make another hickey, not being able to control himself now that he could actually call Eddie Kaspbrak his.

Eddie let out a noise, one sounded exactly how Richie wanted it to sound. He smirked, tugging at the skin on Eddie's neck slightly with his teeth. 

"God, you are like a wet dream," Richie groaned, kissing back up Eddie's neck and pulling away to look at him. Eddie was panting, like he was about to have a damn asthma attack— but he felt  _ fucking great.  _

"Can I..." Eddie trailed off his question, letting his fingers trace down Richie's torso and to the waistband of his jeans. Richie licked his lips and sighed.

“Hey,” Richie said, shifting. “Eddie, your ma’s here, yeah? Let’s not give her a reason to kick me out if she catches us, okay?”

Eddie’s smile fell slightly. “Oh. Okay.”

“If your mom wasn't here, I’d let you touch me all you want,” Richie smiled. He was lying through his fucking teeth. He wasn't ready. He  _ thought  _ he was ready, but he just wasn't. Just as much as he’s not ready to tell Eddie  _ why  _ he’s not ready. 

“It’s okay, Richie,” Eddie said softly, running his hands through Richie’s hair softly. “I get it, babe.”

Richie looked down, his eyes met the starting of ink on Eddie's hip. He couldn't help himself— he locked his fingers in the waistband of Eddie's pants and tugged them down ever-so-slightly to be able to see the full tattoo, running his thumb over the space. It made his heart ache, but in the good way. 

"Hey, Rich," Eddie said softly, putting his hand over Richie’s. “Can I see yours?”

Richie smiled, shifting Eddie off of his lap and turning around. Eddie’s hand fell gently against Richie’s shoulder, tracing the numerals engraved on his skin. “It’s so pretty… and stupid… we are so stupid for getting matching tattoos, Richie—”

“Eds,” Richie laughed, leaning back into Eddie’s chest, looking up at him. “It’s  _ cute. _ ”

Eddie glared at Richie. “Yeah, cute, but  _ stupid. _ ” 

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me, idiot.”


	13. twelve

Richie was actually quite excited to be back at school. He was happy he'd be able to see his friends again and get back into routine. 

He was sitting in calculus, tapping his foot against the floor, when Eddie came in. He sat next to Richie with a smile, scooting his chair closer to Richie's. Richie smirked, resting his hand on Eddie's thigh like he was so used to doing. Eddie seemed to visibly relax, leaning back slightly in the chair and moving his leg closer to Richie. 

When class actually began, neither Richie nor Eddie moved, sitting in that position all hour. The two boys did their work and concentrated— and the hand on Eddie's thigh seemed to help them both. 

When the bell rang, they both stood and walked out together. They were both silent, which was strange, but all Richie could think about was what had happened the day he got out of the hospital. 

It made his skin tingle, knowing he finally able to call Eddie his boyfriend. It was like a dream.

"Can I come over tonight?" Eddie asked, breaking the silence. Richie looked down sadly, and shook his head. 

"Not tonight. My dad will be home and I don't want you around him," Richie sighed. Eddie nodded, and went to leave for his next class, but Richie spun him around quickly and attached their lips. 

"Richie!" Eddie exclaimed with a laugh. "We're at school."

Richie shrugged. "Hmm. Can't seem to care."

Eddie giggled and went to his next class.

Something about Richie being unafraid to be so affectionate with him… that really did it for him.

-

When the day ended, Richie drove Eddie home, dropped him off (after having a vicious make-out session in his car), and went home to find screaming. And yelling. And hitting.

Maggie and Wentworth Tozier were fighting. Like, with fists— Maggie had a bloody nose, and Went had definitely had a few clumps of his hair ripped out. 

"Guys! Stop!" Richie screamed, dropping his things and launching himself onto his father's back, trying to tear him away from Maggie. Went turned around quickly and attempted to hit Richie, who dodged the punch, and dropped to the ground beneath him. 

They wrestled for a long time, Richie just trying to get his parents apart, until finally he had no choice but to grab the half-drank beer bottle off of the coffee table and smash it over his father's head. It knocked him out cold. 

Richie took a deep breath, looking over at Maggie, who was softly crying on the floor. 

The cops were there ten minutes later.

"Hi," Richie said when he got to the door, opening it for the officer. His father was still unconscious on the ground, and Maggie was sat in the chair now, cowering in on herself. The policeman looked around.

"I walked in, and they were just going at it, and I—” Richie started, but before he could finish, he heard his dad stir awake.

“Wha—? Where’s that…” he mumbled, looking straight at Maggie and instantly attempting to dive for her again. The cop quickly grabbed him, cuffing his wrists quickly and tugging him to the cruiser. Richie watched, seemingly emotionless.

He and his stepmother were also driven to the station, where they took them into two different rooms. A different policeman entered the room with Richie.

"Richie... hello," he said, sitting down at his desk. He lit a cigarette. "I'm vaguely aware you are friends with my daughter? Jane?"

Richie finally realized where this man looked familiar from. "Oh, yeah, El. I'm friends with her."

Jim Hopper nodded, taking a drag of his cigarette. "So, you are eighteen, correct?"

Richie nodded.

"Technically you could live on your own," he says. "But I would recommend that until you finish school, you should live with a family member nearby. It’d be extremely stressful for you to try and get your own place while still doing school. Your stepmother wants nothing to do with you, from what she said."

_ Of course she doesn’t.  _ Richie sighed and bit his lip. "I don't have any more family around here—”

"We called your mother," Hopper said, cutting Richie's sentence off. "She lives on the edge of town. She said she'd love it if you came and lived with her."

Richie froze. His mother. His biological mother, whom he's never known, and that mysterious brother and the possibility of stepfathers and step siblings, even half siblings— it frightened him. It really did. But the other part of Richie wanted to know. Wanted to know what his mother was like, what that side of his DNA lived up to. 

With a slow nod, Richie agreed. "Yeah. I will."

-

Richie wouldn't say he was nervous— of course he wasn't nervous, he didn't get nervous. Getting nervous is something Eddie would do. 

But, there's something about knowing you had a brother— a possible twin brother— for eighteen years, and then finally meeting them for the first time that was somewhat nerve-racking. 

Richie couldn't stop thinking about the fact that his father was sitting in a jail cell right now, probably contemplating his entire life so far. He couldn't help but wonder if one day, he'd end up there, too. Alone, cold... in prison. Of course, not for beating his wife, but, maybe someday he'll get a DUI, or something of the sort, and then it'll all be over for Richie Tozier. He'll be right where his father is. 

His fingers rapped against the steering wheel of his truck as he turned onto the street, pulling up to the back of the cul-de-sac, the center house. Richie pulled into the driveway slowly, taking a moment to breathe as he stared at the house. It was big. Two stories, large garage, huge center window— bigger than any house he'd ever lived in, at least.

Richie pulled the keys out of his truck and stepped out onto the driveway, stuffing his keychain into his jacket and taking a deep breath before walking up to the front door. He'd come back for his things later, after meeting the family—  _ his _ family, now.

Richie knocked a few times, and then stood at the doorway, rocking back and forth of the balls of his feet, before the door opened slowly. His jaw fell slack. 

Richie was not the type to be astonished very often. The last time he was truly in awe of something was when he’d kissed Eddie the first time, but now... Richie was speechless, for once in his life.

The boy at the door looked exactly like him. There was not any major differences between them, except the lack of glasses and maybe the fact that Richie had a little more acne than him. But, besides that, they had the same face. They really did. It freaked Richie out, truthfully, and as he scanned over the boy, who was not as tall as Richie— he was about average height, five foot ten, eleven, maybe, while Richie stood at a whopping six foot something-ridiculous. His black hair was straight rather than curly like the mess that sat on Richie’s head, and, unlike Richie, the boy just looked... cleaner. 

"So, you're Richard?" he asked slowly, no expression on his face whatsoever. Richie nodded, then realized that, one, nobody called him Richard, and two, he had no clue what his own brother's name was.

"Mike," he said, reaching out a hand for Richie to shake, and perhaps that answered his prayers. He took Mike's hand with a small shake, and said, "Call me Richie."

Mike nodded, bringing Richie inside to a living room, where he knew right away that the woman sitting on the couch was his mother.

Obviously, anyone would know that she was his mother, because Richie was coming to live with his mother, and, well, she is the only woman old enough to have had an eighteen year old son— but to Richie it was more than that. The shape of her face, the way her smile formed when she saw Richie enter the room— it was so obvious that this woman was his mother, his real, biological mother. 

"Richard..." she trailed off, standing up and walking towards him, wrapping her arms around his skinny torso, standing on her toes a bit to be able to fully embrace him. Richie didn't hug people often, so he just went along with it— embracing her back silently.

"He prefers, 'Richie'," Mike said, leaning against the doorway. 

“My name is Karen,” she smiled, pulling away to face Richie again. “I’m so happy you're here. I really am.”

Richie smiled, pushing through his slight discomfort at all the affection, as it just wasn't something he was used to. “Me too.”

Once the introductions were said and done, Mike told his mother that he was gonna help Richie get his bags, and then give him a tour of the place, to which she joyfully agreed on the idea and sent them off. Mike and Richie went outside to Richie's truck, which Mike obviously had some distaste in.

"This car is so jacked up," he mumbled as Richie popped the latch, opening the door to the trunk and pulling back the tarp that laid over his things. Mike grabbed two duffle bags, while Richie grabbed his messenger bag and a large suitcase. 

"Is that all?" Mike asked. Richie nodded, shutting the trunk and pulling back the tarp, dragging his bags in with Mike, who proceeded to take him upstairs to a somewhat-empty room. It housed only a bed and dresser.

"This will be your living space," Mike sighed, throwing the bags on the bed. "Decorate however you'd like. But no posters of naked chicks, though, Mom would lose her shit."

Richie laughed, opening his suitcase and laying it down on the bed. "No worries. I prefer guys."

"All right, then no dicks on the wall, either," Mike said, opening the small closet for Richie and beginning to throw out some random, empty hangers. "Mom  _ and _ Dad would lose their shit."

"You call him Dad?" Richie asked. Mike nodded. 

"Yeah. You don't have to. You can call him Ted if you want."

Richie sighed, beginning to put some of his nicer clothes on hangers— his nicer button ups and such. Mike took them each from his calloused hands and hung them on the rack in the closet, while Richie put the more casual items in dresser drawers, until the suitcase was completely empty.

"Is that all the clothes you brought?" Mike asked, watching as Richie began opening the duffle bags and pulling out things that definitely weren't clothes— blankets, pillowcases, books, etc. 

"Yup," Richie said, pinning a Def Leppard poster to the bare, white wall, turning around and smilinn at Mike. "Only clothes I own."

Mike nods, and goes to one of the duffles, reaching his hand in to unload some things when Richie smacks his hand away.

"What the hell?" Mike asked, watching as Richie dug around in the bag and pulled out a brown paper bag, walking to the top drawer of the dresser and shoving it under the clothes. 

"If that's weed, or something, Mom will kill you," Mike said, looking at Richie with an expression he could only describe as completely and utterly Eddie Kaspbrak. That was the way Eddie looked at him when he made an overly vulgar joke about Mrs. K. It almost made Richie giggle. Almost.

"It's none of your business," Richie said, continuing to hang up music posters and pictures, going through the tin of push-pins he brought quickly, tacking up all of his photos and posters against the wall. David Bowie, Guns N' Roses, Queen, all artists that Richie listened to, hung up on his wall again. By the time he was done decorating, the room looked exactly how his old one had. Very Richie Tozier, to say the least.

And as Mike left and closed the door behind him, Richie realized he'd forgotten one last thing.

With ease, Richie reached into his bag and pulled out the box of stick-on stars, beginning to attach them to his ceiling like he had in the old house, in the Tozier residence— and then that's when it hit him that he was  _ living _ in the Wheeler house now. He was the only Tozier here, maybe the only Tozier left at all.


	14. thirteen

Eddie was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, when the phone rang in the living room. He practically flew out of bed and to the phone, answering it quickly. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Rich."

Eddie let out a breath of relief. "Richie! Where have you been? Why haven't you come to school or answered my calls? My mom hasn't let me go to your house—

Richie bit his lip on the other line. "I, uh, my dad went to prison. I live with my real mom now, and we've been trying to sort out schooling since she lives in an area where I'd go to a different school... but I'm coming back."

"Oh," Eddie said. "Wow. Can I meet her?"

"There's another thing..." Richie trailed off. Eddie nodded, even though he knew Richie couldn't see him. 

"Yeah?"

"I've got a twin brother."

Eddie raised a brow. "You've got a twin brother?"

Richie swallowed. "Yeah..."

Eddie slowly nodded to himself, before clearing his throat and speaking up again. "Can I come over?"

Richie bit back a smile on the other line. "Yes. Please."

"Okay... I'll be there soon," Eddie said, writing down Richie's new address as Richie told it to him and hanging up, running back to his bedroom, changing and quickly leaving the house. Fuck what his mother wanted.

-

After getting to Richie's new place, Eddie was just staring in adoration at the house. It was huge, and Richie's beat-up truck in the driveway looked foreign and misplaced. He walked up to the door and knocked once.

A man answered— one that Eddie had definitely never seen before. He smiled nicely and rolled on his heels. "Uh, hi, I'm here for Richie?"

The man nodded and opened the door further. "He's right upstairs in his room. Has a huge middle finger poster on the door... can't miss it," he said, chuckling. Eddie laughed for a moment too, before thanking him and heading up the stairs. After finding Richie's middle-finger clad door, he opened the door to find Richie laying on his back on the bed, tapping a rhythm against the bedpost.

"Rich," he said, a smile in his voice. Richie looked up, a smirk spreading across his face. 

"Hey, baby," he sighed, sitting up. Eddie walked towards him slowly, sitting down on the bed and locking eyes with him. He leaned in, connecting their lips softly, about to run his hands through Richie's hair when the door flung open and a voice said, "Richie, I need help with my English homew— whoa." 

Eddie whipped around, and his eyes widened. 

He knew of Richie's brother, and knew that they'd look identical. But something about having Richie kissing him and somebody who looks exactly like Richie standing in the doorway of his room made his head spin in slight confusion and surprise.

"Holy fuck," Eddie laughs, looking between the two with a shocked expression as he analyzed their appearances. 

"I'm Mike," he said, walking over and extending a hand to Eddie. He took it and shook. 

"Eddie. Hey," he smiled, taking one more hard look at Mike before turning back to Richie. "How can you two be the exact same?!"

Richie laughed, pulling Eddie down to lay his head on his chest. "'Cause we're twins, duh!"

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no shit. But it's just weird. Yet, I'm not even attracted to him...?" 

Richie smirked smugly. "Good."

Mike sighed. "Okay, is that my cue to leave?"

"No!" Eddie said, sitting up. "I wanna get to know my boyfriend's brother. We gotta get along, right?"

He laughed. "Sure, I guess."

So, Eddie and Mike fell into conversation about The Beatles and Madonna, who Mike refused to admit he liked, but when Eddie began to sing "Like a Virgin" under his breath, Mike finished his lyric with a loud, "Touched for the very first time!"

Richie didn't pay much attention to their conversation, mostly staring at Eddie's lips as he spoke to Mike. He wasn't even aware they were speaking to him until Eddie got two inches away from his face and said, "Asshole, listen to me."

He blinked a few times and locked eyes with Eddie, leaning in and pressing his lips to the corner of Eddie's mouth. "What's up?"

Eddie blushed. "Mike needs help with English."

Richie looked to Mike, and then to Eddie. "I don't care, Mikey."

"You're the smart one!" Mike begged, laying on the bed with a frown. "Come on, Richie, please?"

He sighed. "Fine, Mike. Sit down and I'll explain shit to you."

-

After spending an hour explaining the material they'd been studying in his English class, Mike finally understood what Richie was getting at and left the room. He turned to Eddie with a smile.

"I wanna smoke," he said. "Open the window?"

Eddie glared at him. "Rich, it's thirty seven degrees outside."

"So?" Richie asked, rolling off the bed and opening the window. "I don't want them to have to smell weed."

Eddie didn't protest again, watching as Richie locked the door and went into his dresser drawer, pulling out a bag and rolling a joint far too quick to be healthy.

He lit it and sat against the wall under the window, letting the smoke blow out through it.

Eddie watched with fascination— he looked so sexy, blowing smoke rings and leaning his head against the windowsill. Mostly, he was just grateful that Richie was smoking weed instead of cigarettes.

Eddie turned on the TV, and for the next half an hour, he watched reruns of Happy Days while Richie finished his smoke. Soon enough, he flopped down onto the bed with a laugh. "I'm really high."

Eddie smiled. "Fun."

Richie laid his head on Eddie's thigh, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. "I really wanna make out with you."

"Not while your mouth tastes like weed," Eddie said, running his fingers through Richie's curls slowly. Richie whined loudly.

"Ugh. You're so mean! I'm going to sleep," Richie huffed, and closed his eyes, falling asleep in less than a minute.

Eddie watched him with great adoration as he slept, the way his lips parted and his eyes twitched as he snored softly. He bit his lip, carefully moving Richie to lay under the blankets, removing his jeans, because what psychopath sleeps in jeans? He checked his watch: 10:02 PM. He figured it wouldn't hurt to spend the night…

_ Momma’s gonna kill you, Eddie! _

_ Oh, shut up, Eddie. _

He took off his own jeans and climbed in next to Richie, cuddling up to his side and laying his head on Richie's chest. He found Richie's left hand and laced his right with it, drawing circles around on the skin there, slowly drifting off into a deep, comfortable sleep.


	15. fourteen

Eddie was somewhat reluctant about hanging out in the Wheeler’s shed. Not because it was the Wheeler’s, but rather, because he was with Richie, and nothing legal ever came out of being alone with Richie.

Richie had transformed the Wheeler’s vacant shed into a hangout space for him— took a random couch off of the side of the road (“That will  _ definitely  _ give us fucking lice, Richie,” Eddie had said), crafted a table from several empty totes and chests he discovered throughout the shed, and called it "Casa de Tozier." Eddie thought he was ridiculous for naming a dirty shed, but Richie loved it, nevertheless.

The part Eddie liked about it, though, was the art wall. Since Richie only came in here to get high (and the Wheelers couldn't know about that, of course), he needed an excuse to be there. So, he said it was because of his art wall.

The art wall was the empty wall to the left of the doors, starting out a manilla shade and now transformed into a collage of colors— painted flowers and graffiti of all sorts. Richie had tons of spray paint and random watercolors that Eddie had no clue where from, but he really did love the art wall in "Casa de Tozier."

Eddie put his feet up on the table, watching as Richie drug a paintbrush up the wall, filling in the black outline of The Rolling Stones logo with a bright, fiery red. A joint hung from his lips, and he pushed his glasses up with his arm quickly, pulling back to admire his work.

"It looks nice, Rich," Eddie said, breaking the silence, and Richie turned to look at him. His curly, black hair was a mess on his head, bangs pushed back by the orange bandana tied around his forehead. His glasses had bits of red and white paint on the frames, and his long jean-clad legs contrasting against the painted background made Richie look incredibly tall. Not only tall, but gorgeous, too.

Eddie couldn't help himself from grabbing his bag and pulling out his Polaroid camera, lining up the lens with his eye and snapping a photo of Richie before he could refuse. The photo developed, and Eddie sat it down on the table as Richie put the paintbrush back into the bucket of red paint and walked over to the couch, sitting down next to Eddie and grabbing the photo.

They waited together for it to develop, and once it did, Eddie thought it was beautiful— the way Richie was staring at the camera, looking like a million bucks, joint between his lips and paintbrush held haphazardly in his hand. Richie looked over the photo slowly, and, shamelessly, thought,  _ Hell, I'm fucking gorgeous. _

"I like it," Eddie said, referring to the photo. Richie snickered.

"Yeah, you only like it because I look like the definition of sex," Richie said, setting the photo down on the table and inhaling the smoke from his joint and blowing it out, creating smoke rings in the dim lighting of the shed. He stood up and walked to the art wall, admiring his work.

"Did you just call yourself sexy?" Eddie laughed, watching Richie turn and lock eyes with him again, a small smirk playing on his lips. Eddie knew that Richie was already pretty high, from his glazed stares and slightly agape lips. 

"Hell yeah."

Eddie bit his lip, watching as Richie looked down at his shoes, scuffing the front of his Docs against the shed's concrete ground.

"Good, because you are," Eddie agreed. 

Richie's eyes flickered up to Eddie's, and he took a slow drag of the joint situated between his fingers, walking to Eddie slowly and straddling his waist, flipping them over so Eddie was on top. Richie's free hand trailed down Eddie’s shoulders, landing at the small of his back. He turned the joint towards Eddie, gesturing towards his mouth, and when Eddie started to refuse, Richie stuck it in between his teeth. Eddie clamped down on the joint, not inhaling, just holding it there as Richie leaned forward, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and slowly pulling it off. Eddie watched the way Richie's shoulder blades flexed as he threw his shirt across the shed, taking the joint from Eddie's teeth and putting it in between his own lips, inhaling heavily and pulling it out, keeping his mouth closed, leaning in and connecting their lips.

“Rich—”

To Eddie, it tasted sour at first— a burning sensation filling his mouth and coating his sensitive tongue as Richie's lips moved against his. Eddie supposed Richie set the joint down in the ashtray, for both of his hands were plastered against his back now, holding Eddie tight against him as the smoke in their mouths changed from a rich, nasty taste to a pleasant one, not sweet, but almost as if you inhaled the scent of nature— a forest after it had just rained, perhaps. 

Their tongues collided, a pleasuring heat filling Eddie's skin, and he wrapped his shaky arms around Richie's neck, trying to get him closer. Richie pulled away to throw off Eddie's shirt, attacking his neck in harsh bites and kisses, and Eddie couldn't resist from taking the almost-forgotten joint from the ashtray— still lit— and bringing it to his lips, taking a deep inhale, the smoke enveloping his throat. He didn't care about asthma anymore, didn't even think about the fact that his lungs probably couldn't handle the smoke. He felt  _ great _ . 

Richie pulled away from Eddie's neck to snatch it from his small fingertips, taking a drag of it himself, connecting their mouths again as the smoke danced between their tongues, swirling through moving lips like sweet fire. Eddie's senses were enlightened, every touch to his clammy skin felt more extravagant… Richie's hot breath against his mouth like a dragon breathing sweet, warm flames. 

Eddie needed more of his touch; it was like he craved it, his body aching with the absolute want of it all.

"Rich," he whined. Richie was hard, and so was Eddie. He whined again, pulling away, his eyes practically begging Richie to do something, anything at all. 

"Hm," Richie hummed, looking Eddie in the eyes and pushing a strand of smooth, brown hair back behind his small ear. "How high are you?"

Eddie looked at his blue eyes. They were extremely bloodshot, the whites almost completely pink, pupils blown in intoxication or lust, he couldn't tell the difference— Richie looked wrecked. Eddie wondered if he looked the same.

"I don't know," Eddie responded, feeling Richie's hands trail further down his back, landing on his ass.  _ Richie's hands are so big,  _ Eddie thought.  _ He is so much bigger than me. _

Richie smiled, moving his hands down to undo Eddie’s pants, his brain foggy. He wasn't even really sure what the fuck was happening right now. 

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek as Richie pulled him out of his boxers, and he glanced up at Richie’s face.

And Richie was suddenly in a whole lot of panic. 

His mind flooded with thousands of thoughts:  _ Why am I doing this? What am I doing?  _

He knew Eddie would let him stop at whatever point he wanted to, but smoking that weed messed with his head and he had this horrid misconception that he was ready to do this... for real.

Richie pulled his hands away, letting out a shaky exhale. "I'm sorry. I can't—”

Eddie looked down, furrowing his brows. "Wait, what? What happened?"

Richie bit his lip, looking away from Eddie. "It's... it's something I'm not ready to talk about yet. I'd like it if you didn't push it, please..."

Eddie nodded, even if he was still confused. "Of course. I wouldn't do that to you, Rich."

Richie nodded slowly. "Thank you. I think I'm just gonna go back to painting."

"Alright," Eddie said, fixing himself back into his pants. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Richie said, shaking his head. "Stay. Please."

So, as Richie stood back up and continued his art, Eddie stayed.


	16. fifteen

Eddie's eyes fluttered open slowly, looking over to the side and being met with another face. He lifted his head up quickly, looking around and remembering that he was with Richie. He closed his eyes again for a moment, until Richie rolled over and smiled at him. "Hey, Eds."

Eddie smiled back. "Hi, Rich."

Richie got out of bed, stretching his arms and tugging off his t-shirt, the tattoo of Eddie's birthday visible on his shoulder blade. Eddie quietly got up, going over to Richie and standing on his tippy toes to look at the ink closer. "I still cannot believe we got fucking tattoos."

Richie laughed, turning around to face Eddie. "Has your ma found yours yet?"

He shook his head.

"Good, it's our little secret," Richie smiled, kissing Eddie softly and running his hand through Eddie’s messy hair. "Wanna skip school?"

Eddie sighed, looking in the mirror and fixing his hair. "No, I'm pretty sure my grades are dropping and I need to keep them up. You too, mister."

Rolling his eyes, Richie got a change of clothes for himself, before throwing Eddie a pair of light blue jeans— ripped at the knees— and a Bowie shirt. Eddie sighed. "Rich, are all of your jeans destroyed?!"

Richie nodded. "Yup."

“These pants will _not_ fit me—”

“Your ass is bigger than mine, the waist will fit you _great_. And you can roll the legs up allllll you want.”

The two boys got dressed and Eddie went to the bathroom. Richie followed, getting a spare toothbrush from the drawer under the sink and handing it to Eddie. They brushed their teeth in silence together, and all Richie could think was, _this is so damn domestic it hurts._

Once they were ready to leave, Richie led them downstairs where Karen was wishing Mike a good day at school. He didn't go to Derry like Richie and Eddie— but Richie offered to drive him, anyway.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," Mike said, grabbing his bag and saying goodbye to his mother. Eddie felt like Richie's stupidly-large clothes were burning into his skin, with the t-shirt baggy on his torso and the legs of the jeans rolled up three times to end at his ankles. 

The car ride started with Metallica, and once Mike began to protest and beg that he turned on something quieter, he finally complied and had Eddie pop in the Bowie cassette. They rode out to Mike's school listening to Aladdin Sane, and once they arrived, he dropped Mike off at the entrance and told him not to get his ass kicked. 

When Richie and Eddie finally got themselves to school, Eddie was almost shaking with nerves of being late. He hated being late to school— especially calculus, since it was so damn complicated and hard for him to catch up on. The boys walked in together, splitting up temporarily to go to their respective lockers.

Once Eddie was done, he went in the direction of Richie’s locker, who was already heading towards him. “Hello, Spaghetti man.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, nudging Richie’s arm. “I literally hate that name so much, Rich. It’s not even funny.”

Richie looked at him funny for a second, before saying, "You have a New York accent."

Eddie shot him a confused glare. "What? No I don't."

"Say coffee," Richie said, watching Eddie's face intently. Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

"Coffee."

Richie grinned. "You do! You totally just pronounced it 'cwah fee.'"

"I said coffee!" Eddie argued, watching as Richie burst into another fit of laughter. 

"You did it again! God, how did I not notice before?! It's not that apparent but now I'm definitely going to hear it in everything you say," he laughed as they entered their class, sitting down at their seats as class began.

Eddie pouted as Richie continuously whispered, "cwah fee," to him the whole class period. 

-

After last period let out, Eddie informed Richie that he wouldn't be able to come to Bev and El's game today. With a sad smile, Richie told him it was alright and he'd call him afterwards. He still drove Eddie home, telling him to "kiss your mommy for me," before giving Eddie a kiss of his own and taking off. 

Richie had to pick up Mike from his school, and figured he might as well tug him along to the game. It's boring sitting there alone, now that he's used to having Eddie with him. Mike agreed when he proposed the idea, which made Richie smile as they drove back to Derry High. 

They watched the game along with the rest of the cheering crowd, Richie having to explain what was happening every five minutes, and when the last shot was done and the game was over, Mike followed Richie as they walked down the bleachers, meeting up with Beverly. Richie greeted her happily, while Mike stood there impatiently, waiting for his brother to introduce the two.

"Bev, this is my little-by-three-minutes bro," Richie said, wrapping an arm around Mike's neck and scuffing up his hair. Mike groaned, shoving Richie off of him and adjusting his hoodie. 

"Hi," Mike said, smiling at Bev. “I’m Mike—” 

His sentence was cut short when the sound of the locker room door shut loudly, echoing throughout the empty gym. 

El came walking out towards the three, waving at Bev. "Hey!"

"El, this is Mike," Richie said, gesturing to the other boy, who was smiling awkwardly. "Mikey, this is Jane, but we call her El. Long story, I'll tell you another time."

El looked over at him, and her brows furrowed. "Richie... and... cleaner Richie. You two are twins?"

Richie smirked. "Yup! I'm the hotter one, right?"

El was silent.

"Hey!" 

Bev laughed, and kissed Richie's cheek. "Yes, Rich, you're the cutest of all the people in the world."

Riche laughed and slung an arm around his best friend. 

Bev could sense it immediately, that El liked Mike. Even if they hadn't spoken to each other, and Richie was fucking oblivious to it, she could see the look in her eye. 

_But if El thinks Mike is cute,_ Bev thought, _does that mean she's attracted to Richie, too?_

And then Beverly took a better look at the brothers, and realized that they did look different in a way. Sure, they were literally identical, but Richie was taller and his hair was curlier and his glasses made him look older. Mike was crisper, looked his age instead of almost breaking through twenty, like Richie, and his hair was flat against his forehead. He had less freckles than Richie, who housed them all over his body, while Mike's only seemed to sit on a thin layer across his cheeks and nose. Beverly could see how El could be attracted to Mike but not Richie, just as well as she could see why Eddie could be attracted to Richie but not Mike. 

"What to do now?" Richie broke the silence, and Bev shrugged.

"Not sure," she said. "Where's Eddie?"

Richie shook his head. "At home. Crazy ma problems."

Mike blocked out their conversation, and turned to El. 

"So..." he started, shifting awkwardly in place. He could feel what Bev was feeling. "You play? On the team?"

El nodded, making eye contact. The two stood in silence, El just staring at him, until Mike sneezed loudly. Richie sent him a look, but then rolled his eyes and went back to talking with Bev about the game. El smiled, and watched as Mike rubbed his nose and sniffled, looking back at her.

"Sorry," he said. 

"Why are you apologizing for sneezing?" she asked. Mike shrugged. 

"Uh, I don't know."

"Enough flirting, come on!" Richie groaned, tugging Mike roughly. El's smile fell from her face when Mike was turned and no longer faced her. She felt a sensation in her chest, one she'd never really experienced before. Sure, she'd thought boys were cute and all, but something about Mike was different.

In all honesty, she'd thought Richie was quite attractive the first time she'd met him. But then she got to know him better, and now he just feels more like an older brother to her than somebody to be attracted to. She began to really wonder about who she'd liked in the past— Eddie was quite cute, right? But he was Eddie. Everyone knew Eddie was cute. And Beverly was beautiful, but they were best friends and it was her obligation to know that. The rest of the boys at school were annoying and loud and raunchy, and she already dealt with Richie enough. 

She walked slowly behind Mike, trying to gather the courage to walk next to him, but failing. He turned his head back, but she immediately dropped her gaze and looked away, trying to make it seem like she hadn't been staring. It didn't really work.

“She likes me,” Mike mumbled to Richie. Richie snorted.

“Have fun with that, little bro,” Richie grinned.

They walked out to Richie's car and all piled in, the boy declaring that they were going to get some food and then head back to the Wheeler's place. 

They picked up McDonald’s and drove home quick, Richie breaking at _least_ three speed limits on the way home. 

Once they were home and settled in Richie's room, Bev spoke up. "So, Mike, how's it feel to have Rich as your brother?"

Mike chuckled, shaking his head. "It's like in the movies where they say everyone has an evil twin, and he's the evil one."

"Hell yes I am," Richie joked, poking Mike's face and eating some of his fries. El watched in silence, not being able to take her eyes off of Mike. 

They were just chatting about basketball when Richie found himself staring at the window, and hoping that Eddie would climb through, like they were star-crossed lovers or something. 

_Lovers_ , Richie thought. Huh. Doesn't sound too bad anymore, does it?

Yeah... _lovers_.


	17. sixteen

The nightmares started on the first of May, and when Richie woke up that Monday morning to go to school, he felt as though somebody had stabbed their way into his brain with a pushpin.

His room felt like it was on fire, sweat clinging to the dark roots of his hair and the smooth surface of his back, dripping down his spine like a waterfall as he shot up from sleep. His face felt numb, and his chest was reacting in such a way that Richie was almost sure he was having a heart attack. The dark pictures that filtered through his unconscious brain played like an old movie behind his eyelids, the frames crackling with each scene change. He saw condescending gestures and felt hands on his waist, hard and far too rough. He was aware of the tears streaming down his scarlet cheeks and how they burned like acid against his chapped skin. 

Richie rolled over and out of his bed, legs wobbly and numb as he changed into a pair of jeans and an AC/DC shirt. The material stuck to his skin and he walked emptily down the stairs, not speaking a word to anybody as he left for school. Mike had gotten a ride from his friends because they needed to be at school quite early— earlier than Richie was waking up, that's for sure.

He drove to school in silence, parking like usual and getting out of the car, Vans dragging across the blacktop as he slumped his way into the building. His head was still aching, and he didn't know if he'd even be able to talk to anybody that day. 

Getting his book, Richie made his way to calculus and immediately put his head down, not waiting for Eddie or anything. He felt his eyelids drooping but kept them open, not wanting to close them and see the images of his dreams again against the back of his lids.

He heard some commotion and felt the presence of Eddie sitting down next to him, resting a hand on Richie's arm. "Rich? You okay?"

Richie didn't answer, but moved one of his hands to grasp Eddie's hand, squeezing it lightly before letting it fall limp again. Eddie stared at him, concerned, until the lesson began and he had to tear his eyes away from Richie, who was quietly crying into his arms. 

-

After the school day had ended, Richie had pulled Eddie into the bathroom and told him he hadn't slept very well last night and just needed space for a bit, which Eddie complied to. He smiled, kissing his boyfriend softly before leaving the bathroom and making his way to his car, laying across the seat and smoking. It had been what felt like years— even if it had only been a good hour or so— when there was a voice shouted through his open backseat doors: "Hey, Tozier, get out here."

Putting out his cigarette with the tip of his index finger, Richie got out of his truck and stood face-to-face with Henry Bowers. He didn't even care at this point— wasn't afraid of him anymore, hell, maybe even wanted him to conflict some sort of pain on Richie, anything to distract him from the memories of dirty hands on him.

"I'm bored, and need to kick somebody's ass," Henry shrugged, bringing out his blade and aiming it towards Richie. "You're my favorite target."

Richie didn't even flinch. He stood still, staring at the switch in Henry's fingertips.  _ Do it,  _ he thought _. Please.  _

Henry laughed at Richie's silence, walking to him and punching him in the jaw, finally sending some sensations through his bones. Richie fell back against his truck, gagging and spitting blood out onto Henry's shoes. He laughed loudly as Richie's legs buckled and gave out, sending the boy crashing to his knees.

"This is where you  _ fags _ belong, on your fuckin' knees," Henry snarled, bringing the blade to Richie's eyebrow and slicing a thin stripe there. Richie hissed and his knees jerked, hitting Henry in the ankle. This caused the knife to practically stab into Richie's skin, and he gasped in pain. Henry drew the blade away, pulling Richie up and punching him again, grabbing him by his cheeks. 

“Isn’t that right? You’re a fag?” Henry spit. “I’ve seen you with that little bitch of yours. His mommy know what you’ve been doing with her son? Know that you’re taking advantage of him like that?”

“I’m not taking—” Richie tried, but Henry hit him again, causing Richie to groan in pain mid-sentence. 

“Yes you are! That’s all you queers do!” Henry shouted, his spit flying into Richie’s face as he did so. “He probably thinks you're sick. You probably have to force him to—”

“No!” Richie screamed, and he didn't know if was the adrenaline or some new-found bravery in his blood, but with his single word, he was head-butting Henry hard, sending him stumbling backwards. Richie shoved him again, trying to blink blood dripping from his brow out of his eye.

"You bitch!" Henry yelled, swinging weakly at Richie with his blade. Richie managed to turn, the knife slicing a line through his shirt onto his back. Richie hissed in pain as blood trickled down his back, but got around to the driver's side of his truck. He attempted the engine once, twice,  _ (why is NOW the time this fucking truck gives out?!),  _ until Henry's fists pounded on the window and he thought,  _ fuck it _ , and swung open the door, smacking Henry right in the face with it and breaking out into a sprint, tripping and falling a few times, landing on his knee and most likely dislocating it, but he never stopped moving.

So, Richie ran fast— well, as fast as he possibly could while limping profusely and in immense pain— and he sprinted all the way to the Kaspbrak house.

He collapsed against the front door, banging his fists against it and leaning on his good leg, breathing heavy, trying (and failing) to stop crying.  _ God _ , he prayed,  _ Eddie, come on, answer the fucking door _ —

And the door was answered. But it wasn't Eddie— it was Sonia Kaspbrak, with a confused scowl, which almost held an underlying gleam of concern. Richie looked up with wide eyes, connecting his with hers, and sputtered. He wasn't aware of the blood pooling on the tip of his tongue… he must of bit it.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he apologized, lifting himself off of the doorway and trying to turn, landing on his injured leg far too hard coming down. Richie cried out in pain, starting to collapse when arms caught him halfway down, and tugged him into the house.

"Mrs. K, you don't have to—”

"Shut up, Richard," Sonia said, setting him down in a kitchen chair and going to the first aid kit that sat on the countertop. Richie laid back against the chair, holding in tears and wiping the blood from his face.

"Where's—" he started, a heavy pant breaking apart his sentence, "—Eddie?"

"He's with Bill right now," she said, walking back over to him and staring down at him. "Close your eyes." 

Richie did as he was told, and soon after, felt what must have been rubbing alcohol being pressed against his eyebrow, the worst of the cuts on his face, where Henry had driven the blade deeper than the rest. She cleaned the rest of his face cuts, before pulling back and examining his leg.

"What did you get yourself into?" she asked, and it almost seemed like she was whispering it under her breath, saying it to herself.

"Henry Bowers," Richie said, hoping she knew who Henry was, since it seemed as though everybody did in Derry. She sighed. 

"Is there anything else?" Sonia looked along his body again, not noticing any other injuries, but Richie nodded and gestured towards his back.

"Yeah, kinda slashed my back up, but it's fine, really," he tried standing but Sonia shoved him back down in the chair and spun him around so his back was facing her. Richie didn't try to argue.

He shrugged his t-shirt off of his torso and let it hang around his neck, exposing the cuts and marks decorating his back. Sonia's eyes didn't even comprehend those as quick as she noticed the tattoo on his shoulder blade, though.

"November third?" she said, then cursed herself when she realized she had thought out loud. Richie tensed up for a moment— he’s forgotten about the fucking tattoo.  _ And why did Mrs. K know how to read roman numerals that quickly?!  _

"Uh," he trailed off, trying to get away without answering.

"Eddie's birthday, huh," she said, dragging the alcohol-coated cloth across his skin. He hissed a couple of times in pain, but shamefully nodded.

"I'm sorry," he said when she finished. Richie tugged his shirt back on and turned to face her, standing slowly while she glared at him. In fact, it wasn't even a glare— it was just the way she looked, he realized.

Richie pushed his glasses back onto his nose and began towards the door, when Sonia stopped him.

"You can wait in his room. I'll call him and tell him to come home."

Richie froze. "What? Really?"

Sonia nodded sternly. "Yes. Now go before I change my mind."

Richie thanked her and hobbled to Eddie's room, sitting on the floor and stripping himself of his shirt, since it was rubbing harshly against the cuts on his skin, and sat shirtless in the middle of the ground. He doubted any of Eddie's clothes would fit him.

Sonia picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialed the Denbrough's phone number, holding the receiver to her ear. It rang a couple of times before somebody answered. The person was giggling, and she could hear the distinctive sound of Eddie's loud laughter in the background.

"H-H-Hello?" It was Bill.

"Hello, Bill," Sonia said. "Can I talk to Eddie? It's his mother."

Bill told her to hold on, and she heard him calling for Eddie. It wasn't even twenty seconds later when Eddie said, "Momma?" 

"Hi, Eddiebear," she said. "I want you to come home."

"Huh? Why?" 

Sonia sighed. "The Tozier boy is here, and he wants to see you."

"Richie is there?"

"Yes," she said, taking a deep breath and tapping the wall as she spoke. "Just come home, honey."

Eddie agreed and said he'd be home in no-time. 

-

When Eddie got home, he practically chucked his new bike down and sprinted into the house. His mother sat on the chair, watching the TV. 

"Where's Rich?" Eddie asked, and then it struck him— she had lied. He wasn't here, of course he wasn't— his mother just wanted him home, and knew the exact right way to get him there—

"In your bedroom," she said simply, and went back to watching her show. His train of thought broke, and he ran his room in a frenzy. Richie was sitting on the floor, shirtless, covered in bruises and cuts.

"Rich?!" Eddie exclaimed, throwing down his bag and falling to the floor next to him, grabbing his face in his small hands. "What happened?!" 

Richie smiled. "Just Bowers. Your mom cleaned me up."

"What?"

"Yeah, trust me, I was confused, too."

Eddie kissed Richie's cheek, and stood up, leaving his room for a moment. He walked out into the living room, and stood in the doorway.

"Thank you," Eddie said, catching his mother's attention. She turned to him and nodded.

"I know you aren't very fond of him, but I am. So thank you for not letting him bleed out on our front porch," Eddie said, walking over to Sonia and kissing her on the cheek. He began to walk back to his room when she spoke up.

"Eddie, come here for a minute," she said, and he turned around slowly, walking back and sitting on the couch. Sonia sighed, turning towards him and closing her eyes for a moment.

"Are you two doing things with each other?" she asked, almost quietly, like it pained her to speak those words. Eddie stayed silent, looking away from her.

“Um.”

"What have you done with him?"

"Nothing bad, Momma," he lied, the memory of Richie's mouth on his and the taste of weed coating his tongue flooding his brain like a tsunami. Sonia raised her brows in need of more explanation.

"Momma, I'm gay... I like boys..." he whispered, bracing himself for an impact that never came. 

"Go to your room, please," Sonia said, turning away from him. Eddie opened his eyes and bit his lip.

"Mom—"

"Eddie, please," she said. "Just go to your room."

And, so, he did.


	18. seventeen

Richie had never touched anyone before— too mortified from what had almost happened when he was thirteen, and then what had  _ actually  _ happened almost a month ago already— but tonight, Eddie laid on his stomach on Richie's bed, a popsicle resting in between his lips and the red juice melting from the heat of his mouth, running across his skin slowly, and Richie wanted a damn blowjob.

"Eds?" he mumbled, setting down his textbook and rolling over to where Eddie laid. Eddie closed his book as well, and looked over at Richie. He pulled the popsicle from his mouth, letting his lips drag over it. Richie shivered.

"Yeah, Rich?" 

Richie decided that it was now or never, and if Eddie said no, well, then it would happen when he was ready. 

"Any chance you'd blow me?"

It was silent for a few minutes, before Eddie placed the half-eaten popsicle back in the package and threw it into the trashcan next to Richie's bed. He sat up on his knees, locking eyes with Richie.

"Are you sure? After what happened the other day…” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Promise,” Richie nodded.

Eddie shrugged. “Alright, then. Sure.”

"Uh, get on—" Richie stumbled over his words, "get on your knees. On the floor."

Eddie laughed. “So bossy.”

“Says you!  _ You’re  _ the bossy one in this relationship,” Richie said, kissing Eddie’s forehead. “You want me to say please?”

Eddie rolled his eyes with a smile, but got up and off the bed, sitting down on his knees on the floor. He looked up at Richie as he stood up and leaned his back against the wall, lifting his foot up and poking Eddie in the cheek with his socked-toe.

“Hey!” Eddie shrieked, smacking Richie’s foot out of his face. “Nothing about sticking your toe in my face screams ‘suck my dick.’”

“Oh shut up and suck my dick,” Richie laughed.

Eddie smiled, sitting up and unzipping Richie’s jeans,

tugging them down. 

“Why do you have such stupidly tight jeans and stupidly long legs?” Eddie huffed as he struggled to get Richie’s jeans down. “It’s dumb.”

“You love everything about me,” Richie teased, running his fingers through Eddie’s hair.

“I do,” Eddie smiled as he got his mouth on him, keeping his eyes trained up on Richie’s face.

Richie leaned his head back and watched, thinking,  _ this is nice. His hands aren't on me, this isn’t taking me back to that place. Yeah, I could get behind this… _

He stroked Eddie’s cheek with his thumb, reveling in the soft quietness of it all. Richie was just letting himself pant quietly, and Eddie was going slow. 

Eddie pulled off, reaching up and wrapping his hand around Richie, mostly just to take a breather. Richie froze, his breath hitching.

_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck his hand is on my dick fuck fuck fuck fuck. _

_ Oh my god. You are overreacting, Tozier. Eddie would never hurt you. _

Richie didn't even realize how hard he was pulling Eddie’s hair till he said, “Ow, Rich.”

“Shit.” Richie let go, eyes wide. He was going soft. “Sorry.”

“Babe, what’s up?” Eddie asked. “You don't like it?”

“Can you just, like, get your mouth back on it?” Richie asked, his voice somewhat shaky. He felt fucking stupid.

“I will,” Eddie smiled, moving his hand, trying to get Richie hard again. 

Richie couldn't help it when he reached down and smacked Eddie’s hand off. Eddie gasped, and laughed. 

His voice was teasing and sweet, his hands resting on Richie’s hips softy. “Bitch! Just lemme touch you!”

_ Bitch. Just let me touch you. _

_ “Fucking bitch, just let me touch you!” _

_ FUCKING BITCH.  _

And that was when Richie lost it.

His chest felt like it was collapsing as his legs gave out, and he fell to the ground in front of Eddie, his hands moving faster than his brain as he shoved himself back into his pants, lifting his hands to cover his face as he began to sob. To sob like he hadn't sobbed in years, to sob like he hadn't sobbed since he laid in bed that terrible night in 1985. 

"Rich?! Richie, what happened?!" Eddie held Richie’s head to his neck as he cried. Eddie's breathing began to pick up as he panicked, not knowing what the hell was going on.

When Richie finally stopped crying, he pulled back to stare Eddie in the eyes. They were full of concern and panic.

"I'm so sorry," Richie whispered. "God damnit."

Eddie shook his head quickly, taking Richie's face in both hands and lacing his fingers in the small curls framing Richie's temples.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault," he said, pressing a small kiss to Richie's cheek. 

Richie stood up, sitting down on the bed and sighing. "I wanna tell you everything..."

"Rich—"

"No," Richie said, grabbing Eddie's hand. "I want to."

Eddie nodded, and, so, Richie told him everything.

Eddie's expressions went from fear to anger to pain. He was destroyed. Devastated. How could somebody do this to Richie, he thought. To another person at all?

"Rich, I—" Eddie tried when Richie had finished the story. He took a deep breath in between words. "I'm so fucking sorry."

He didn't know what else to say. What else could he say? Sorry would never be enough— and he knew that. He wanted to give Richie the life he never thought he'd get. The commitment, the bond, the everlasting emotions that Richie had almost been stripped of.

He wanted to show Richie love.

"I love you," Eddie blurted, and Richie kept his head down, eyes wide and breathing quietly erratic.

"No you don't," he whispered, keeping himself away from Eddie, who bit his lip.

"Yes, I do," he sighed, shifting closer and placing a hand on Richie's back, who flinched and moved away. 

"Don't say that," Richie said, swallowing roughly and standing up. "Don't say shit just to make me feel better."

Eddie stood up with him. "I'm not! I do, Richie! I love you! What will it take for you to believe me?"

"Nothing!" he yelled, sending Eddie quiet, voice fading off into the buzzing silence of the room like a faint alarm in the distance. “You choose to say that  _ right  _ now? Like this is the best damn time? I just told you the worst thing that has ever happened to me, kill me for feeling like I’m getting a pity confession right now!”

And Richie's head was running wild:  _ Tell him. Tell him you love him, too. You love him more. You want to be with him forever, keep him in your arms until you're both happy. Until you both find peace. Until you stop blaming yourself for all the things that go wrong in this world. _

"Can you go?" Richie asked quietly instead, shifting his feet and looking at the floor. "Please?"

"Richie..." Eddie trailed off, tears filling his eyes. "I love—”

"Eddie, please." A single tear rolled down Richie's face, dripping down onto his socked foot. He refused to look up and meet Eddie's eyes.

Nodding sadly, Eddie picked up his things and left. He left Richie standing in his room, alone, terrified. 

Richie broke down, cries racking through his body like a missle. He slammed his bedroom door and locked it, going to his dresser and ripping the drawer open, finding that small bag of coke he thought he was over with. He needed to stop it. Needed to stop the feelings. The emotions. God damnit, they needed to quit being there.

Throwing open his wallet, Richie grabbed out the first card he got his fingers on and put it in between his teeth, opening the bag and dumping a bit out onto the dresser. He separated it into three lines, snorting the first, then the second, then the third, before closing the bag and throwing it back in the drawer, along with the card. He stumbled back to his bed and laid down, staring at the ceiling, thinking,  _ what the hell, who could love somebody like me? _


	19. eighteen

It was May 27th, and Eddie was trying desperately to scrub that damn tattoo off of his hip. He knew it wouldn't come off. But he would try.

He couldn't stand seeing it every time he changed clothes. Couldn't stand seeing that date engraved on his skin. He could hear Richie's voice in his head every single time. 

It lead to bloody baths and rag-burned skin several times already, his fingertips much stronger than he'd ever imagined. The skin underneath the tattoo was mangled. It was cut up and bruised, and once again, Eddie sat on the bathroom floor with a damp washcloth, and rubbed his skin raw. It drew blood, a small line of it rolling down his hip and hitting the floor. He groaned in anger, throwing the rag across the room and watching it hit the wall with a wet thud. 

All Eddie wanted was Richie. 

Richie refused to speak to him. Eddie sat down in calculus, Richie ignored him all hour. It was getting to a point where Eddie almost couldn't take it anymore. And Bill didn't understand, and Stan was too caught up in his own shit. Ben was coming up with a way to finally muster up the courage to ask out Beverly, with the help of Mike Hanlon. Eddie's whole friend group was preoccupied. And he couldn't even imagine going to Bev or El about this— he was far too afraid they'd tell Richie everything he said.

So, he had one last option.

He stood up from the floor, tugging up his pants and stumbling down the stairs to the living room. He rubbed one eye and sat down on the couch next to his mother.

"Momma, can I ask you something?" he asked, voice weak and small.  _ This was so fucking humiliating _ . Sonia muted the television and turned to Eddie.

"What is it, dear?" 

He swallowed his pride and closed his eyes. 

"When Dad was still alive, did you two fight?" Eddie whispered, looking away from Sonia and waiting for the cold response he expected.

She sighed. "Sometimes. Just couple-y bickering— why?" 

Eddie's bottom lip shook as he spoke. "Richie's ignoring me."

He waited for her to snap. To yell, scream, shout, throw punches, kick him out. He could only expect the worst case scenario with her.

She never did.

"What happened?"

Eddie looked up, confused. "I... I told him I love him."

Sonia sucked in a breath, exhaling deeply a few moments later. "Oh."

"Momma, I'm s—”

"Don't apologize," she sighed, blinking rapidly for a moment before looking away. "You can't control it. You just need to wait it out and let him come back to you, Eddiebear.”

He bit back a small smile. "You mean that?"

She nodded, and Eddie flung himself to her, hugging his mother tightly. "Thank you, Momma..."

She smiled against him, hugging him back. "Of course."

-

Last day of May, and Prom was rapidly approaching. 

Eddie wanted to go with Richie. He wanted to see Richie get dressed up in a suit and slow dance with him and kiss his neck. He missed him. He missed him so much. 

This was torture.

At least, it was, until the phone rang.

Eddie ran to it like it was oxygen, throwing the receiver to his ear and speaking quickly. "Hello?"

"Eds?"

Letting out a loud breath of relief, Eddie smiled. "Hey, Rich."

"Do you wanna come over?" Richie asked, talking as if nothing had been off the last few weeks. Eddie bit his lip.

"Sure," he said before he could stop himself. "I'll be over in a bit."

Richie said okay, and they hung up the phone, Eddie leaving a note for his mom that says he's at Richie's. No point in lying anymore. 

When he got there, Richie was waiting on the porch for him, cigarette in his mouth. Eddie smiled, leaning his bike against the garage and walking to Richie. "Hi."

"Hey, hot stuff," Richie smirked, looking up at Eddie and putting out his cigarette on the cement, standing up and placing his hands on Eddie's hips. "I'm sorry for being an asshole..."

"Richie," Eddie sighed, standing on his toes and kissing Richie's jaw softly. "It's okay. I know you're scared."

Nodding, Richie led him into the house and up to his room, telling Eddie that the Wheelers currently weren't home, and they had the place all to themselves.

Eddie jumped on him as soon as they got to Richie's room, pushing him down on the bed and connecting their lips roughly, hands coming up to run through Richie's hair. 

"I love you, too," Richie whispered.

Eddie pulled away. "Really?"

Richie tugged Eddie back down to his lips as he nodded, slowly moving to take off Eddie's shirt, and unbutton his jeans. Eddie slid out of his pants quickly, before sitting on Richie's thighs. 

“Are we going too fast?” Richie laughed. 

"Nah. What isn't going fast  _ enough,  _ is you getting your goddamn clothes off," Eddie laughed, getting Richie's jeans off and following with his shirt. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Richie's stomach, looking up at him through his lashes.

Richie sighed, hands trailing into Eddie's hair as he looked up at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“We’ll get to that,” Richie smiled, pulling Eddie back up to kiss him. “But…”

Eddie cocked a brow. “But…?”

“Do you want this?” Richie asked. “All of this?”

“Do  _ you?” _ Eddie smiled, holding Richie’s face. “Your feelings matter here too, Rich.”

“I do,” Richie nodded, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. “I want you.”

It was silent for a few moments, until Richie gently  tugged at the waistband of Eddie’s boxers with his thumb. Eddie looked down at where his hand sat, biting the inside of his cheek. Richie’s hand was so close, it was right there… 

Richie pulled the elastic of the waistband back, then let go, watching as it snapped into place on Eddie’s skin. Eddie hissed a bit. “Ow, Rich.”

“Sorry,” Richie smiled apologetically, kissing Eddie chastely before running his fingers along the hem of his boxers. “For real, though… can I?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, helping Richie get his boxers off. Richie hesitated a bit with his own.

“I won't put my hands on you unless you want me to,” Eddie promised, his fingertips brushing up against Richie’s stomach, running along the dip down the center from his chest to his navel. “Promise.”

“Okay,” Richie whispered, his voice slow, as he pulled his boxers off. 

They took a moment to look at each other. 

Richie felt insecure. He felt too tall, too skinny. He knew his body wasn't model-worthy. His arms were thin and his legs lanky, his chest flat and pale. There were light brown freckles across him, everywhere, spreading across the expanse of his shoulders all the way to his chest. They ran down his arms, dispersing a bit by his wrists. 

Eddie felt insecure, too. He was small. His stomach was a little soft, and he eyed Richie’s abdomen, feeling his gut swirl nervously. Richie was so perfect, and here was Eddie… too soft on the hips, too stubby on the legs. His hands were small, and the skin across his body was almost hairless. 

“I’m sorry—” Eddie started to say, as Richie began with, “I know I’m not—”

They both paused, staring at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. It felt good. Eddie didn't know it would feel good to laugh before sex. 

“I was going to say… I’m sorry I’m not perfect,” Eddie said as he calmed down, twiddling his fingers. Richie’s eyes were trained on him. 

“Are you kidding me?” Richie gaped, grabbing ahold of Eddie’s hands. “Yes you are. You're perfect, Kaspbrak. I was going to say I know  _ I’m  _ not perfect.”

Eddie huffed. “But—”

“We’re both perfect,” Richie said softly, keeping eye contact. It made his heart pound. “Even though you're prettier.”

“Rich.”

“I know!” Richie laughed, pulling Eddie down into the bed. He climbed on top of him, kissing at his neck. “I’ll fuck you already, I know you're impatient—”

“ _ Richie!” _

Richie just smiled into his skin.

It took them a good hour or so to get to the real thing. Richie took his time with Eddie, making sure he didn't hurt him, making sure Eddie was enjoying it as much as Richie was. Richie’s bedroom was warm, and the both of them were sweating into the sheets, hair slicked against foreheads and fingers slipping against skin.

But it was real. And it was them— Richie and Eddie. RichieandEddie.

And when it was over, Richie collapsed back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, a chill running over him as a draft of air blew over his cooling skin. 

He looked to Eddie. 

Eddie's face was still. He was silent, filled with what looked to be fear, and he looked mad. Oh, Eddie looked  _ furious _ .

"You didn't use a condom," Eddie said, voice monotone as he stared up at Richie's ceiling. Richie rolled his eyes, looking away from Eddie and sitting up.

"So? It's not like you're gonna get pregnant, Eds," Richie teased, getting up off of his bed and grabbing some sweatpants from the ground, pulling them back on and launching Eddie's clothes at him. "We were in the moment, baby."

"Did you forget about the diseases?" Eddie asked, starting to get panicky now, pulling on his tee and jeans quickly, standing up off the bed and storming over to Richie. "I'm gonna die of fucking AIDS, Richie!"

Richie raised his brows and chuckled. "How could I give you AIDS if I was a virgin? And, also, don’t have it?”

Eddie's hand reached up and smacked Richie across the face. 

Richie was stunned. 

Eddie angrily grabbed his backpack, throwing the straps over his shoulders and walking out of Richie's room, who followed like a dog.

"Eddie, you don't have AIDS," Richie tried, but Eddie turned around in the hallway and angrily met his eyes with Richie.

"Shut up!" he screamed. "That doesn't even matter!"

Richie was so glad the Wheelers were out today. 

"Do you even know what AIDS really is?" Richie asked, continuing to follow Eddie. He was quite confused now, since Eddie had proven himself to be the expert of all illnesses, and was now arguing you could get AIDS from someone who doesn't even have it. 

"Yes! It's the disease you get when you fuck someone without a fucking condom! That’s it! And guess what, Rich? You fucked me without a condom. So thank you, because now I have fucking AIDS!" Eddie yelled, throwing open Richie's front door and turning around. "Fuck you! And don't call me!"

And, with that, Eddie Kaspbrak was gone, hopping on his bike and pedaling down the road, leaving Richie Tozier confused and almost heartbroken in the doorway.


	20. nineteen

When Eddie reluctantly told his mother that, one, he got fucked by Richie Tozier (because how else was he going to explain the second part of all this shit?), and, two, he needs to get tested for AIDS, she was mad— so angry, you could practically see the steam coming out of her ears— but relieved to know she had been right about that dirty Tozier boy all along, and cursed herself for ever doubting him.

Sonia took Eddie to the clinic, where they got him tested and the nurse told the mother and son that his results would be in no later than a few days from now. Sonia thanked the woman relentlessly, dragging Eddie home and sitting him on the couch, forcing him to tell her everything he had done with Richie, the stuff she didn't know. Eddie was fucking embarrassed as he shamefully told her. Not in detail. Just,  _ Momma, we had sex. Momma, we kissed. Momma, he left marks on my skin. Momma, I’ve been fooling around with Richie Tozier since the first time we spoke in calculus. _

He was promptly sent to his room, where he then laid and sobbed for two hours. He already missed Richie. Missed his presence, missed being around him. But, at the same time Eddie was furious— how could Richie just forget like that? He knew Eddie was paranoid, knew he'd freak out if he'd fucked him bare. He clenched his eyes closed and willed the feeling to go away.

-

The next day at school, Richie walked in late, as usual, and the first thing he heard come out of somebody's mouth was, "Yeah, Eddie Kaspbrak has AIDS."

Richie stopped dead in his tracks, and walked up to the girl who'd said it— she couldn't have been any older than fifteen, a freshman, but Richie didn't care. He backed her up against the lockers, scowl on his face.

"Where'd you hear that?" Richie growls, locking his eyes with the girl's. She cowered in apparent fear, avoiding Richie's sharp stare. 

"From… from H-Henry Bow-Bowers," she stumbled out, afraid, and Richie shoved himself off of her, storming away and walking around the school building until he found Henry.

Now, Richie Tozier did not have a death wish, but it sure as hell seem as though maybe he did when he walked right up to Henry Bowers and raised his fist to collide with the boy’s face.

Patrick Hockstetter gasped, scrambling to help Henry off of the ground, whose nose was dripping blood. 

"Goin' around telling people Eddie's got AIDS, huh?" Richie snarled, punching him again when he stood. "Maybe you'll get it now that you've got your blood everywhere!" 

He continued to throw punches, Patrick standing and watching in what could've been awe. Of course that fucking psycho was enjoying this.

Richie finally stopped, staring down at Henry's bloody face. He spit onto him. "Serves you right, asshole."

He got off of Henry and walked away, wiping his bloody knuckles on his jeans and simply getting back into his truck outside, and driving to the quarry.

When he got there, Eddie was sitting on the cliff, legs dangling off the side. Richie pulled up slowly, turning off the truck and and hopping out.

"Eds?" he called. Eddie didn't turn to face him.

Richie walked to him, sitting down next to him and sighing. "Eddie, talk to me."

Eddie cleared his throat but looked away, as if he was going to speak but couldn't bare talking to Richie. Couldn't see him anymore.

"I think we should break up," he whispered. Richie sighed deeply, closing his eyes. 

_ I think something too _ , he thought.  _ I think I should fling myself off this fucking cliff. _

"I fucking love you," he snapped. "You know how hard that is? How hard it was to let myself fall for you?"

Eddie flinched, but stayed quiet, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. Richie bit the inside of his cheek and stood up. 

"Yeah, fuck you, then," he growled. Eddie quickly stood up, still avoiding his gaze. 

Then, Richie turned around to face him, with a smirk. "Oh, wait. I already did."

Eddie took large steps towards him and before Richie could even blink, Eddie was launching his fist at the side of Richie's face. He stumbled back and spit out a bit of blood, turning his head to look at the fuming boy in front of him.

"You don't get it!" Eddie screamed, sobbing now. "You don't get what it's like to have a crazy fucking mother who taught you about diseases before love, or to be such a fucking easy target that people will pick on you for anything! I heard what people said at school today! How the fuck did they find that out, I don't fucking know! But Bill told me. And I'm sorry for caring about my own health more than your happiness, Richie, but goddamnit, for once, can't you just be a fucking person?!" 

Richie stared at him. He stared at him for a long time. "I know how it feels to be fucking worthless. Sorry, but I lost my humanity when I was thirteen and getting shoved up against a dirty bathroom door with some guy’s hand trying to force its way into my jeans. I thought maybe you were on your way to bringing it back. Guess I was wrong."

Eddie gaped at him as he spun around, walking fast back to his truck and slamming the driver's side door shut. 

Richie pulled away from the quarry, driving fast back to the main road. He was sobbing as he drove, tears clouding his vision. He swerved a ridiculous amount, until finally he pulled up to his house and slammed his head against the steering wheel, and cried.

And, oh, he cried. He screamed, eyes clenched shut and chest in pure agonizing pain. He wanted to fucking die.

_ Fuck Eddie Kaspbrak _ , he thought.  _ Fuck him and his perfect smile, beautiful body, adorable lips and tiny dimples. Fuck him and his way with words. Fuck him and his eye for a gorgeous photograph. Fuck him and the way he's so damn easy to fall in love with. Fuck. Him. _

A million memories flashed behind his eyelids as he suffered in his car, alone.

(Was that your first kiss?)

Richie flung himself out of the car, slamming the door and running into the house.

(maybe he should open his mouth and let him slip his tongue inside, too)

He got up to the bathroom, slamming the door and sitting himself in the bathtub.

(the guy pushed him back against the door and tried to cover his mouth)

Taking out his lighter, he flicked the flame a few times, running his hand through the fire, letting it lick at his flesh.

(Fucking bitch, just let me touch you!)

He watched as the skin on his hand reddened, burned.

(Xavier’s hand was in his pants)

The hand holder the lighter shook, and he let the flame click away, throwing the object to the floor and staring at his blistering hand.

(It didn't last long. Or, maybe it did) 

He clutched it to his chest, and began to cry again.

(Xavier’s face held a ghost of the boy whose name he never learned at thirteen years old) 

"Go the fuck away," he whispered.

(He was just trying to forget)

He wanted Eddie.

He needed Eddie.

Richie curled into the fetal position and ripped off his shoes, chucking them at the wall.

He knew he had drugs in his room, but he couldn't force himself to move and get them. His eyes drooped a bit with fatigue, and he began to fall asleep. He was so fucking exhausted 

(Was that your first kiss?)

Fuck.

(That’s a shitty first)

Eddie.

(I could give you a better one)

Kaspbrak.


	21. twenty

The next morning, Richie woke up to somebody shaking him. "Richie, why the fuck are you sleeping in the bathtub?"

He cracked open his left eye to see Mike standing over him, dressed and ready for school. He groaned, rolling over.

"Leave me here," he said, throwing his glasses into the other side of the tub. "Hopefully I drown."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Get out, Richie. You have to go to school. Mom said so."

So, Richie got out of the bathtub and went into his room, changing out of last night's clothes and into something he randomly tugged out of the closet. He drove Mike to school, and then himself. 

And Richie Tozier is used to getting high before school. He's used to getting drunk, too— but never has he done the two together. 

But, today, he sits in the empty bathroom, five minutes before his first class of the day, and stares at the bottle in his hand. Oxycodone. They’re Mike’s, from when he got some stomach surgery a few years ago. They were never finished. They’ve been collecting dust for years.

He cracked open the bottle, dumped two in his hand, and dry swallowed them. 

Richie dug around in his bag for a moment, before retrieving a plastic water bottle and popping off the cap, putting the opening to his overly-chapped lips and tilting it back, chugging with no remorse or hesitation. The bottle was obviously not filled with water— the vodka burned his throat on the way down, but Richie drank the whole bottle in one go, crunching the plastic into a ball and throwing it behind him, hearing it clank against the wall and then hit the floor. 

Richie's head swam. He grabbed his bag, stumbling out of the bathroom with shuffling feet and buckling legs, his Vans scuffing the ground as he headed to calculus, not even taking his book. When he got to class and Eddie was already sitting at their usual seats, Richie took long strides to him and threw down his bag, settling into the seat. 

"Richie?" Eddie asked in concern, not really understanding why he cared anymore— but he still noticed the slight redness in Richie's eyes and the way he staggered. Richie's head fell into his hands, and he laid his head down on the desk. Eddie looked at him with curiosity, but the teacher came into the room and began to talk about some bullshit calculus terms, and he figured Richie hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in. 

"Just do your work, Eddie," Richie grunted, turning to meet Eddie's eyes quickly, before reburying his face in his long arms on the desk. Eddie rolled his eyes, but turned towards the front of the room anyway.

The teacher didn't pay any attention to Richie, either. So, for the next fifty minutes of calculus class, Eddie pretended to pay attention to the teacher and what he was explaining, while feeling Richie's jacket-clad arm pressing against his own.

When it began to tick down to the last few minutes of class, Eddie turned to Richie and shook him once. "Richie, hey, wake up."

Richie didn't budge.

Eddie rolled his eyes, shoving the boy harder. "Come on, Richie. Wake up."

Nothing.

"Richie..." Eddie pushed his body one last time, and watched in frozen horror as the arm that had been resting across Richie's head fell limp against the side of the desk, his bracelets banging into the side of it loudly, drawing the attention of everybody in the class. 

Eddie was still. He sat still for a very long time. You could hear the silence. The absence of noise, the void of air where nobody was breathing, everybody waiting to see what would happen next, and Eddie just stared at the back of his head, until his small, shaky hand subconsciously reached around Richie's unmoving face, turning him to look at Eddie.

Richie's eyes were half closed, the only part of his eyes visible being the whites, and his nose and lips were covered in semi-dried blood. The desk was covered in blood from where he'd laid before. 

Eddie's breathing began to pick up, hiccuping with each inhale, and then suddenly he was screaming, backing away from Richie's unconscious body quickly, his small frame flying into the back corner of the class as his hands came up to cover his mouth as sobs racked his body. The classroom erupted in chaos, some screaming in fear and others screaming for help, and everybody was in utter panic. Eddie sat in the corner and watched as people ran in and out of the class, until finally, after what felt like hours— no, not hours, years, fucking years of Eddie Kaspbrak sitting in the classroom, alone, afraid, watching the panic of his class grow stronger— paramedics stormed into the room and took Richie Tozier away. 

Eddie sat there after they took his body, staring at the blood-stained desk, and he scolded himself for not waking Richie up sooner. God, Richie was high, of course he was fucking high. Eddie should've known this, because when wasn't Richie on something?! He's Richie fucking Tozier for God sakes! Eddie didn't want to think that Richie might die from this— but he looked plenty dead on the desk. His heart was speeding in his chest, and he'd pumped on his aspirator so many times but it never helped, not anymore. He was stupid. He knew— Eddie knew that Richie was under the influence. 

When the cops searched through Richie's bag, they found the bottle of oxycodone, and when the bathrooms were looked at, the crunched up water bottle with reminisces of Smirnoff was uncovered. Eddie put two and two together— not only had Richie taken God knows how many pills, but he'd drank a whole bottle of vodka along with it. And that's when he really weighed the situation, and realized that there was a larger chance of Richie dying than living.

The police confiscated Richie's things, searching through not only the rest of his bag, but his locker, too. Richie's locker kept more secrets than his bag— because his backpack may have the drugs and alcohol, but his locker held Eddie's portfolio— more specifically, the photographs that Eddie had taken of Richie that he was too afraid to keep at home, in fear of his mother finding them. Most of them were polaroids and illegal in some way or another. Richie smoking or drinking, blowing smoke rings in his garage, the photo taken at just the right moment to where every ring was neatly formed in the air and the shot was almost impossibly timed. And, well, the others were stupid, raunchy photos of Richie and him, pictures Eddie had taken when had were messing around and he just couldn't help himself. Those photos were the main reason he didn't keep that portfolio with him, and why he let Richie keep it— if his mother found those photos...

They were taboo. The police officers felt uncomfortable as they flipped through photos, reading the small written notes on the polaroids, where Eddie has written some truly dirty shit.

But Eddie stayed sitting, until an officer came to him with kind eyes, asking if he was the Eddie Kaspbrak talked about in Richie's notebook and the portfolio, and, because he is Eddie Kaspbrak, he went with the men to the hospital, his eyes locked on the several cops invading Richie's beat-up truck in the parking lot with a heavy heart and shaky hands as they drove away.


	22. twenty one

Eddie sat in the waiting room of the hospital for a long time until the doctors came out and told him that Richie was in a coma.

He didn't cry when they told him, which was probably strange, since this was Richie, but when they told him that there was a chance Richie would never wake up, he himself was surprised when an avalanche of tears didn't suddenly erupt from his eyes. 

He sat down. And stayed sitting. Eddie didn't move from that seat for maybe an hour after he'd gotten the news, but finally, he asked the doctors, "Can I see him?"

They said yes, and led him to a room where Richie lay, pale, unconscious, practically dead already. And when the doctor left Eddie alone, is when he began to cry.

He laid his head down on Richie's still arm, crying into his skin. He felt so guilty. It was like a tsunami wave of guilt. Eddie had never wanted to swap places with somebody so bad— Richie didn't deserve this. Richie didn't deserve anything wrong that had ever happened to him.

He wanted to strangle that boy from however many years ago, the boy who did that to Richie. And he wanted to strangle himself, too.

-

The day after, Eddie went to school for about half an hour, then leaving after crying in the bathroom after being called the "AIDS boy." He hopped onto his bike and rode to the hospital.

He was back at square one. Sneaking out of school to see Richie, lying to his mother about where he was going. It reminded him far too much of April. The feeling of the tattoo on his hip washed over him, and burned into his skin. He wondered if Richie could feel his, too.

When he got there, he was shocked and afraid to see Henry Bowers' car parked in the lot. He can't possibly be here because of...

Eddie sprinted into that hospital faster than he'd ever ran before. He quickly checked in and ran to Richie's room. He hadn't even realize he passed Henry on the way there. 

Richie was still laying there the exact same as he'd been yesterday when Eddie left him last. He was still comatose. 

Maybe Henry was here for someone else.

He convinced himself of that until he saw the note by Richie's nightstand. 

_ Tozier, _

_ Hope you never wake up. _

_ Bowers. _

Eddie isn't sure why— since it was just a stupid little letter— but he began to cry again.

-

The next day, Sonia received the results from Eddie's STD test, and was relieved to see the results as negative. When she showed Eddie, he was happy, of course, but it just added that extra layer of guilt, knowing he'd freaked out and practically put Richie in the coma himself for something that didn't even end up being true. But Sonia still hated Richie for even making it a possibility of being a positive. 

He went to the hospital that day, and sat at Richie's bedside, speaking to him. "I got my test results... you were right. I don't have AIDS. And, like, you don't even get AIDS first, there’s a virus called HIV that gives you AIDS after having it for a while… I feel so stupid. I'm sorry for overreacting. I miss you so much, I'm so sorry..."

The door to his room suddenly opened, and Beverly was standing in the doorway with a bouquet of flowers and a sad expression on her face. "Oh. Hi, Eddie." 

Eddie offered her a smile, and stood up. "Sorry. I'll go and let you have your time with him—”

"No," she said, placing the flowers down on the bedside table. "Stay. The air seems thinner with you around. His heart rate is more regular. He knows you're here, Eddie. He can feel and hear you, you know."

The air suddenly seemed to go even thinner. Eddie felt like there wasn't enough of it for him to breathe. "Yeah. I've heard that before." 

Bev leaned a hand down to run through Richie's hair. "I miss him."

Eddie felt another shot through his chest. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

"I miss him, too," Eddie agreed, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Beverly and him sat together, looking down at Richie for a long time. At one point, Beverly cried a bit. Eddie forced himself not to. When she had to leave, she kissed Richie's forehead and gave Eddie a hug, walking out of the room was uncertainty and hesitance. She didn't want to leave. Didn't want to leave Richie. Eddie knew this just by watching the way her feet scuffed against the floor as she took an abnormally long time to leave the hospital room.

He looked back down at Richie with a sigh.

_ Why do I feel as though I murdered him? _ Eddie thought. 

_ Well, I guess I practically did. _

-

June in Derry was hot. It was hot enough that Eddie had to whip out the tiny little shorts, and that Richie was literally sweating in his coma.

Eddie sat at his bedside, and watched the way the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth filled with water vapor each time he exhaled. He watched the way that Richie's heart monitor thumped slow and steady.

Eddie stared down at his own hands. He watched them shake in his lap. He looked up, eyeing the window. 

He stood and walked to it, looking out at the town. It was so small, but felt like the whole world. Derry sucked you in, made you feel like nothing else lived on the outskirts of the town. 

Eddie looked at the ground below the window. It was far down. 

He’d been thinking about it far too often these days— dying. Suicide. It was a shit thing to think. But everything was rolling downhill, and he wasn't sure if this was something he could fix anymore.

Eddie heard screaming from the room next door, and a flatline. 

Everything in this world was death. The people in the room next door were sobbing, and that screaming was still ringing. Sounded like a woman. A mourning woman.

He wondered how his mother would mourn him if he were dead. 

Or his friends. Not Richie, though. Because Richie’s here, in a fucking coma, all because of him.

Eddie pushed his face into his hands, and screamed. It wasn't loud, but it was angry. He screamed and he screamed and he screamed.

“I hate myself so bad, Rich,” he cried, almost trying to force his fingers into his eye sockets. “I fucking hate myself so bad. I’m gonna go home and fucking do it, Rich. I’m gonna do it. There's nothing fucking for me here anymore. You're as good as dead and I’d be better off that way too.”

And then Richie woke up.


	23. twenty two

Swimming. He felt like he was swimming.

He heard screaming. Who the hell was screaming?

Something inside him told him to wake up. Open your eyes. 

_ “...as good as dead and I’d be better off that way too—!” _

Richie awoke with a gasp. 

He looked over quickly, and there was Eddie. Eddie. He was there, he didn't leave. He was there. 

"Eds," Richie tried, but the oxygen over his mouth made him cough. Eddie's eyes practically bulged out of his head. He called for doctors, saying Richie's woken up, and the next half an hour with filled with needles and brain tests and Eddie. 

He was there.

Once the doctors left him alone, Richie took a deep breath of fresh air. They'd taken off the mask, and his lips felt like a desert. They were rough and chapped, dried blood buried in the small slits of skin where they'd cracked.

"I could hear you," Richie whispered, not trusting his voice to work yet. "When you talked to me... I could hear you."

Eddie sighed. "What I said… right before you woke up…” 

Richie shook his head. “Don’t. I know. It’s okay.”

The two sat in silence until Eddie spoke again. "I'm so sorry—”

"Shh," Richie insisted. "I'm okay."

"I'm sorry for overreacting," Eddie sighed. 

Richie shook his head, motioning for Eddie to come closer. He sat on the edge of the bed and Richie leaned his hand up to brush against Eddie's lips. "It's okay, Eds."

Eddie nodded. Richie's word was law.

-

Richie was in the hospital for another week, where they ran tests and gave him medications until he was able to get checked out.

Karen and Ted Wheeler checked him out and took him home, where they sat down at the kitchen table with him. 

"Richie," Karen began. "The school wants you expelled."

Richie rolled his eyes. "M'kay. Let 'em expel me."

Karen groaned. "Richie, listen to me. They want you expelled. You won't graduate, never get to college, wasted all your time over the last four years there for expulsion. You're in all AP and Honors classes, doesn't that mean something to you? Don't you want to be able to tell people you graduated from high school?"

"No," Richie said simply. 

Ted spoke up now. "We talked to your school for a very long time. We want you to finish the year. You have two weeks left of school, Richie. They said that you can finish, but if your grades start slacking or your unexcused absences start rising... you're not graduating, kid."

"You guys are difficult," Richie sighed, standing up and walking to the stairs. "Bye!"

And with that, he entered his room, and slammed the door.

-

_ They weren't kidding, _ Richie thought as he finished the last question of his calculus homework. Karen sat at the kitchen table with him, next to the stack of textbooks Richie had forgotten he owned and homework from the last however-long-he-was-comatose. He'd been at it for five hours, and Karen watched him every moment. 

"Okay, I'm done," he said, setting down his pencil and cracking his knuckles. "Can I call Eddie now?"

Karen looked over the homework to make sure it was all complete, before nodding. "Sure, Richie."

He bolted out of his chair and ran to the phone, dialing Eddie's number and holding the receiver to his ear, just waiting.

It must've rang three times before Eddie answered, speaking in a hushed voice. "Hello?"

"Hey," Richie smiled, sitting down on top of the counter. "Miss you. Wanna stay the night?"

Eddie bit back a grin. "Mmm, sounds tempting. Let me try and lie to my mom, hold on."

Eddie set the phone down on the table, going to Sonia, who sat in the living room.

"Hey Momma?" he asked, standing in the doorway. Sonia looked up from the TV and smiled. 

"Yes, honey?" 

He took a breath. "Can I stay the night at Bill's? We have a huge test we need to study for."

Sonia seemed to consider it for a moment. "I guess that'd be okay. But you better get to school tomorrow on time."

Eddie nodded quickly. "I will."

Sonia dismissed him then, and he went back to the phone. He picked it back up. "I can."

He could practically hear Richie's smile in his words. "Fuck yes. See you in a bit?"

Eddie smiled. "See you in a bit."

-

Richie knew it was probably better to talk about what had happened before he overdosed, but he thought with his dick rather than his brain as Eddie sat on his lap and shoved his tongue in between Richie's lips, hands grabbing at his hair. 

Eddie rocked down into his lap, pulling away from the kiss. "I wanna do it again."

"What?" Richie asked, breathless, hands holding Eddie's hips gently.

He bit his lip. "Sex. I wanna do it again."

Richie sighed. "I think we should wait a little bit, okay? I want to. I really do. But it might be best to wait..."

Eddie nodded slowly. "We should talk about stuff, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah," Richie said.

Eddie climbed off of his lap, and sat down next to him on the bed. "I'm sorry—”

Richie shushed him. "I know you're sorry. But I'm sorry, too. I was insensitive."

"But—” Eddie tried again, but Richie turned to glare at him.

"Shush it," he laughed. "Let's agree we're both sorry, and that we love each other. Yes?"

"Yes," Eddie nodded. "Hell yes. I love you so much, Richie." 

Richie grinned, bringing Eddie into his arms and resting his chin on top of Eddie's head. His hair tickled the skin underneath Richie's bottom lip. 

"I wanna marry you someday," Richie said. "You're the only person that's ever treated me like I'm a real person, except for, like, Bev."

Eddie blushed, feeling his heart speed up. Marrying Richie? He could imagine it. They'd have a tiny little wedding in the Wheeler's backyard, and Richie would wear a tuxedo that he bought just for the day and Eddie would wear one that he's had since he was ten. Richie would say his vows, go on and on about how utterly in love he is with Eddie, and Eddie would be brought to tears and say that his vows couldn't even compare. They would kiss, and they would be married. 

"I wanna marry you, too," Eddie whispered, linking his hand with Richie's and squeezing. 

"Do you wanna go to Prom next weekend? Tickets go on sale next week, I'll buy us some," Richie brought up, drawing small circles into Eddie's hand. 

"Yes!" Eddie exclaimed. "Oh my god, yes, I wanna go to Prom with you!"

Richie grinned. "Okay, baby. We can go to Prom, and we'll slow dance, and I will be unashamedly yours."

Eddie looked up at him, leaning in and pressing their lips together. "I love you."

Richie felt his heart soar. "I love you, too."


	24. twenty three

Eddie sat in calculus class with a thumping heart. He wanted to see Richie again— they were practically attached at the hip now. Eddie wanted to see him all day, everyday. Make sure he's safe.

Richie strolled in, ignoring the blazing hot pain in his gut. His withdrawals were starting out quite strong.

He sat down next to Eddie, turning to smile at him. "Hey, cutie. What are you all smiley about?"

Eddie grinned, a pink tint collecting onto his cheeks. "Just happy to see you, Rich."

Richie bit back a crooked smile, pulling textbook out and onto the table. The teacher walked in and immediately laid his eyes on Richie, giving him a once-over before beginning the lesson.

"Is anyone still giving you shit about the AIDS thing?" Richie whispered, leaning over to Eddie. He shook his head.

"No, thank god," he sighed. 

Richie nodded, grabbing his hand underneath the table and squeezing. "I love you."

Eddie smiled, looking at Richie. "I love you, too."

-

"Yeah, uh, two tickets," Richie mumbled, pulling out a few twenties from his wallet. He tapped the table anxiously as he watched the girl pull out two tickets and lay them on the table. 

"What's your last name?" she asked, as if she didn't already know. Richie clenched his jaw.

"Tozier," he sighed, watching her write down a 'T,' before looking up at him again.

"O Z I E R." He spelled out the rest impatiently, eyeing the tickets there on the table. his left hand that grasped the money shook.

"And the last name of your partner?" she asked, pen in hand. 

"K A S P B R A K," he simply spelled out, not even attempting to make her spell it herself. She wrote it out and then looked up at him.

"That'll be fifty," she smiled. Richie counted out three twenties and handed it to her. 

"Keep it. Rent a limo, or something," he sighed when he saw the look of confusion on her face. He took the tickets and smiled. "Thanks."

He walked back out to his car, where Eddie laid across the front seats, messing around with the radio. Richie opened the passenger door and climbed on top of him, pressing them together. He brought his free hand up to stroke Eddie's hair, leaning in to kiss him softly. Eddie hummed in appreciation and kissed back.

"Mm, did you get it?" Eddie mumbled against Richie's lips. The latter smiled, nodding and sitting up. 

"Yes sir," he teased, laying the tickets down on the dashboard. "Cost me sixty bucks, but I got 'em."

"Oh, Rich," Eddie sighed, "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to spend that much—”

"Eds?" 

Eddie stopped speaking. "Yeah?"

Richie laughed. "Shut up."

Eddie smiled, moving to sit in his lap and kissing him again. Richie's hands fell to Eddie's hips, which slowly swiveled against his own. Richie hissed, pulling away to trail kisses down the boy's neck. 

"I love it when you kiss my neck," Eddie whispered, tilting his head back more. "Feels nice."

Richie laughed, nipping at the skin above Eddie's collarbone. "You're adorable."

Scrunching up his nose in distaste, Eddie shook his head. "No I'm not."

Richie raised both brows, looking at him, unimpressed. 

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Shut up. Kiss me."

Richie leaned back in, kissing Eddie again, feeling that same fluttering feeling in his stomach that he does every time. 

"I love you," he whispered against Eddie's lips, hands coming up to fist in his hair. "I fucking love you so much."

Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie's neck, kissing him harder, letting his tongue slip into the boy's mouth. They made out in the car for what felt like years until there was a sudden knocking at the window.

The boys pulled apart to see Bev wearing a smirk. She waved through the glass.

"Fun time is over. Time for English class," she said, kissing the window and opening the door. "C'mon, you two lovebirds."

Richie and Eddie got out of the truck, walking hand in hand back inside of the school.

-

Eddie lay asleep on Richie’s bed, clothes shed, Richie’s fingertips running through his hair. Eddie seemed to smile in his sleep as his boyfriend kissed his forehead.

They’d done it again. of course. Still without a condom. Mostly because Richie didn't have any, so.

It was practically dead silent in the house until there was a knock at the door downstairs. Richie furrowed his brows, looking over at his clock. It read three o'clock am. 

He slowly stood up and grabbed the baseball bat that sat next to his bed, walking down the stairs slowly until he got to the door. He looked through the peephole, and was shocked to find Beverly, crying and covered in blood. 

Richie flung up the door and she immediately collapsed into his arms, sobbing into his shoulder.

"R-Richie," she cried. "H-He's g-g—”

Bev couldn't even get out the sentence. Richie dropped the bat and wrapped his arms around her, shushing her softly. 

"Bev," Richie whispered, kissing her temple. "It's okay. Who, babe? What happened?"

"D-Dad," she stuttered, swallowing her words. "He's g-gone. We h-had a fight, and he l-left."

Richie blinked a few times, before closing his eyes and resting his chin on top of her head. "I'm so sorry."

“He t-t-tried to—” She gasped for breath in between her words. "—touch m-me..."

Richie's eyes shot open. "What?"

Beverly just burst into another fit of tears and clung onto Richie's his skin streaked in the blood that covered her hands. 

"I h-hit h-him with a b-bat," she got out. "I d-didn't mean to…”

Richie shook his head. "Bev, it's okay, it was self defense. Come on. Let's get you cleaned up.”

She nodded, looking up at Richie with tear-filled blue eyes. "I love you, Rich. Thank you."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you too, Bev. And you don't have to thank me."

The two went upstairs into the bathroom, where Richie got her arms and hands cleaned up, and washed off his back as well. After about fifteen minutes spent in the bathroom, Richie and Beverly walked to his room, where Eddie lay fast asleep. Bev sat on the empty side of the bed while Richie got her one of his shirts to sleep in. She put it on, the tee stopping mid-thigh, and hugged him again. 

"Thank you," she whispered, and Richie climbed in the middle of the two, Eddie immediately curling up against him again, and Bev doing the same on the other side. He kissed Eddie's forehead before turning and doing the same to Bev.

"What's he gonna say tomorrow?" Beverly asked, looking at Eddie on the other side of Richie. The taller boy shrugged.

"I'll explain it to him in the morning. Get some sleep, Bev."

Beverly closed her eyes, Richie's arm wrapped around her protectively. Her head pressed against the side of his chest. "Goodnight, Richie."

Richie closed his eyes as well. "Night, Bev."


	25. twenty four

The next morning, Eddie woke up, cuddled to his boyfriend's side. The first thing he thought was:  _ Mmm. Richie's so warm. _

And then he realized that Richie doesn't smell like strawberries, and that was how he learned Beverly had stayed the night. 

"Rich?" Eddie said as he walked down the stairs. The clock read six forty two, and judging by the impending sunrise, he knew that they needed to hurry to school quick in order to make it on time. 

"Hey, Eds," Richie called, popping his head out of the kitchen. His hair was tangled and messy, obvious bedhead.

Eddie walked into the kitchen, sitting on the counter and taking in Richie's pajama pants and shirtless top. "Aren't we going to school?"

Richie shook his head, pulling out the milk carton from the fridge. "Nah," he shrugged, taking a swig from the carton.

Eddie cringed, snatching the carton out of his hand. "Ew. Don't drink from the fucking carton."

Laughing, Richie leaned in and kissed him softly. "Bev's here, but I'm guessing you've noticed." 

He nodded. "Yeah. I did. What happened?"

"Something with her dad," Richie sighed, running his hand through his curls. "Not my business to blab about. I figured we'd stay home today and keep her company. Is that okay? You can go to school if you really want."

Eddie shook his head. "No. I'll stay with you guys."

"Alright," Richie smiled, leaning down and kissing him again. "I love you so much, Eds."

"I love you, too," Eddie smiled, running his hands through Richie's hair. 

Padded footsteps made their way down to the kitchen, and Beverly poked her head in. "G'morning, guys."

Richie pulled away from Eddie to smile at his friend. "Hey, Bev. How'd you sleep?"

She shrugged, walking over to them. "Fine, I guess."

Richie frowned slightly. "We're staying home from school. You can go back to sleep if you want."

"Okay," Beverly smiled. "Thanks, Richie."

He shook his head. "Don't thank me."

-

Beverly, Eddie, and Richie were laying on Richie's bed after eating dinner, listing off the ways they could make Prom more fun. 

"Spike the punch," Richie suggested, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt. 

Beverly rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously. That's a no-brainer, Rich."

"I've got nothin'," Eddie sighed. "I'm not very fun."

Richie shook his head, rolling over on top of Eddie and kissing his neck. "You are the most fun, baby."

Bev faked a gag. "You guys are so sappy. It pains me."

Both boys laughed. Eddie pushed Richie off of him, sitting up on the bed. "Bev, do you have a date yet?"

"No," Beverly shrugged. "I figured I'd just stick with you guys and El."

Eddie bit back a smile, telling the two he'd be back in a moment. He rushed down the stairs and to the phone, saying a quick hello to Richie's mother before dialing a number.

"Hello?"

Eddie's smile grew wider. "Ben! Ben, you have to ask Beverly to Prom."

"Huh?" Ben asked, confusion laced in his voice.

"Bev! She's single, and needs a date! Ask her at school tomorrow, or I will throw you off of a cliff."

Ben laughed through the phone. "Okay, okay, damn. I will!"

Eddie practically squealed. "Yes! Okay, bye!"

He hung up the phone and ran back upstairs, jumping onto Richie and kissing him. "I have to go home. I love you."

Richie kissed back with a laugh. "Alright, baby. I love you too."

Eddie said his goodbyes to Beverly before leaving, hopping on his bike and speeding home. He entered the house to find his mother sat on the couch, watching the television.

"Hi, Momma," he said, closing the door and walking over to her. "How are you?"

"Good," she sighed. "Are you still going to Prom this weekend?"

Eddie nodded. "Yep. With Rich."

She let out an audible sigh. "Alright."

Eddie bit back a frown, and went into his room.

-

The next day at school wasn't all that bad, except for the fact that Richie had gotten his cigarettes taken by the principal upon his school-entry check. 

Ever since his overdose, everyday he'd have to go straight to the office and get his bag checked, a full pat down, and breathalyzed. He'd passed through everyday so far (by intelligently keeping his pack of Marlboros in his truck) until today, when he'd forgotten, and left them in his pocket.

He groaned aloud when they'd confiscated them, knowing he'd have to buy another pack at work later. But, he was okay with the rest, and they let him go on to calculus.

Eddie was doodling in his notebook when Richie sat down, kissing the side of his head. He giggled and looked at Richie with a smile.

"Hey, hot stuff," Eddie said, closing his notebook. Richie grinned, settling his books onto the table. 

"I found my suit for Prom last night," he said, opening the book up to the page written on the front board. 

Eddie smiled even wider, if possible. "Me too."

Well, technically, Eddie already had the suit. But last night he tried it on eight different times with several different pants, ties, bowties, and undershirts. 

"I have a tie for you," Richie said, reaching into his bag and bringing out a bubblegum-pink colored tie, feeling silky to the touch. Eddie grinned, looking back up from the tie to Richie.

"You're wearing pink?" he asked. Richie nodded.

"Yup," he smiled. "I've been told I look good in it."

Eddie grinned even wider, leaning over and hugging Richie tight. "You do."

He put his tie in his bag as the teacher entered the room, beginning the lesson right away. Richie kept his hand on Eddie's thigh all hour.

-

"You'll never guess who just asked me to Prom," Beverly said as she skipped over to Richie's locker. He turned to her and laughed.

"Who?" he asked, beginning to walk towards his class. 

Beverly smiled almost dreamily, twisting the hem of her shirt between her thumb and index finger. "Ben."

"Hanscom?" Richie asked. "Eddie's friend?"

"Yeah!" she grinned. "He's so sweet, and nice, and was all cute and flustered so of course I had to say yes."

Richie laughed. "That's great, Bev. I gotta get to English though, so I'll talk to you later." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. 

"Am I staying with you again tonight?" she asked as he turned away to leave. Richie turned back and nodded. 

"Of course," he said. "I'll drive you home today."

Beverly smiled. "Thanks, Richie. You're the best."

He shrugged with a lopsided smile. "Don't mention it."


	26. twenty five

Richie Tozier has flown on one plane his whole life. He was fifteen-going-on-sixteen and it was with Beverly and her aunt, who had come to Derry from Portland and insisted on taking Bev to her cabin in snowy Vermont. 

Beverly wanted to go, of course, but Richie was having family problems during their school's winter break and had been staying with Bev to get away. So, Beverly's aunt happily said that Richie should just come along, too. 

And that was how Richie flew off from Bangor International Airport in 1987, sitting in the window seat next to Beverly Marsh, who fell asleep on his shoulder and drooled into his hoodie sleeve.

Richie had noticed a lot of things on that plane ride, like how as children aged, their cries and screams got less strangled and more clear. He'd noticed that a lot more people got up to use the bathroom than he'd thought would. And he'd noticed that a lot of lights twinkled down below.

You don't realize how many street lights and neon signs on buildings flicker until you're ten thousand feet off of the ground and can see every little flicker of every little light. Richie had watched in pure fascination as the plane soared through the sky and the lights below strobed. They made his head hurt, but almost in a good way. The pressure of Bev’s head on his shoulder and the tickle of her hair against his neck grounded him. He might've gotten lost in his own thoughts if not for her.

And when they'd landed, Beverly awoke and made Richie, who was newly six feet tall, carry her on his back all the way to the rental car, in which they drove to her aunt's cabin in.

That night, neither Richie nor Beverly had been tired, not one bit. Her aunt had drifted to sleep in her room while the two friends laid in separate twin sized beds across a room down the hall from each other. 

"Are you even tired?" Beverly had asked, speaking into the darkness of the bedroom. 

"No," Richie said, getting up and walking over to her bed. He'd laid down next to her and she sat up, the tank top she'd chosen to sleep in stretched tight across her chest and loose near her stomach. She'd gotten her belly button pierced almost a year before, a fifteenth birthday gift from the very aunt that brought them to Vermont. The jewel shimmered in the sparse light from the moon. Beverly would eventually take out the piercing when she turned seventeen. 

"I want a boyfriend," she sighed, watching as Richie sat up, too. He was dressed in a loose tee and boxers. His glasses were pushed onto his face and his hair was spirally and messy against his head. 

Richie bit his lip. "Sorry, Bev." He had laid back down, and then almost as quickly as his back had hit the bed, Beverly was on top of him, straddling his waist and pressing her hands against his chest. It was playful and startled a laugh out of Richie, his hands coming up to hold her. 

"What do you like better? Girls or boys?" Beverly was curious. Richie had come out to her—only her, really— right before his fifteenth birthday, and it fascinated her to no end. 

He had shrugged. "I dunno. I like both pretty equally." His answer would for sure change by the time he turned eighteen and met Eddie Kaspbrak, but at fifteen, he'd only kissed one person of each gender, and didn't have much to go off of.

"Remember when we both had our first kisses playing spin the bottle?" Beverly laughed, tangling her hands in Richie's hair. Richie physically winced at the memory. 

"Yeah," he mumbled, mood completely demolished. Beverly had an idea then, her blue eyes sparking with a glimmer that neither one could even begin to describe.

"Do you want a better one?" And the words had echoed in Richie's head, having heard the exact ones before, but this time it was Beverly, a girl he trusted with his life, and it didn't scare him one bit. 

Richie had nodded slowly, hesitantly, and then Beverly Marsh was his second (third, technically) kiss, her lips soft and smooth against his, hands still in his hair. 

They simply kissed for a long time, it seemed, the room filled with the sound of their mouths moving together. It was slow. It was calm. They were fifteen and stupid. Making out in a sleeping cabin inside of a sleeping forest, family down the hall, and Richie was holding his best friend by the waist in his lap. 

"Jeez," he'd breathed, once she’d pulled back. She snorted out a laugh, her hair falling into Richie’s eyes. It was still long, then. It tickled Richie’s nose.

"You're still my best friend," Beverly said. She knew they'd passed the line of just-friends, but also knew that they never had to pass it further, could teeter on the fence's edge until they drifted apart from each other and never spoke again. 

Richie nodded. "Yeah. You're mine, too."

"I don't want this to change anything," she sighed, voicing her thoughts. "Don't let it, okay?"

"I won't," Richie said, finalizing it all, and then that was that. Beverly fell asleep, and then so did Richie, and the pair went on being best friends. It was a strange thing to happen between them, but it tied them together, a way for them to solidify in each other's minds that they were here, they were best friends. 

This memory came to Richie as he watched Beverly emerge from his bathroom in her Prom dress, a glittering blue that matched her eyes. It hugged her chest and then ruffled out at the bottom, making her look taller, somehow. He bit back a smile.

"You look gorgeous, Bev," he said, watching his friend gleam. 

"Thank you, Rich," she grinned, walking to him and placing her hands on his shoulders. "So do you. As always."

Richie blushed— actually blushed— his cheeks matching the shade of his bubblegum pink suit jacket. Eddie thought he was just wearing a pink tie? No, Richie was clad in a pink blazer, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, black tie loose around his neck. 

He definitely didn't look fancy, by any means. But he liked it. 

Beverly leaned forward and hugged him tight. Richie breathed in the scent of her perfume, smiling against her curls, pressing a kiss against her temple. "I love you, Bev."

Richie pulled away from the embrace, wiping at a little bit of red lipstick that had smeared onto Beverly's chin. She smiled at him. "I love you, too."

They were pulling up to the Kaspbrak house five minutes later.

Richie pulled into the driveway and hopped out of the car, walking himself up to the doorstep and knocking, holding his breath. It was a few moments before the door opened, Sonia standing in the doorway with a slightly agitated expression. And next to her was Eddie. 

His suit was obviously old, but the pink tie stood out against the matte black of the jacket. His hair was neat but also messy— curls sprouting in places, hair cuffed around his ears. Richie was fucking smitten, eyes wide and lips parted. He felt his mouth run dry, and his heart speed up.

"Wow," they both breathed out at the same time, both staring each other down like the other was a holy relic.

"Hi, Rich," Eddie finally said with a smile. Richie felt like he couldn't breathe, he was so infatuated with this boy. 

Richie stood in place as Eddie stepped forward, looking up at him with the loveliest of expressions. He pulled the silky white boutonnière out from behind him, standing on his tippy toes and fastening it into his lapel. They stared at each other for a while, until Eddie leaned in and connected their lips, his hands resting on Richie's chest. 

“Your ma—” Richie tried, but Eddie just kissed the words away. 

Richie's eyes fell closed as he let out a sigh— one of relief, maybe. He felt so safe. Right here, right now, with Eddie. His hands latched around Eddie's waist and he instinctively pulled him closer.

Sonia looked away at first, about to reenter the house without a word, but the sound of Eddie giggling brought her eyes back to the pair. They were both grinning, laughing into each other's mouths, and she felt it. Nothing to do with her— oh no, this wasn't her. It was them. They let off an energy so strong she could feel it in her bones. It was like watching a firework explode right in front of you. It was like walking up to a beach shoreline and smelling the suffocating aroma of salt water, breathing it in, letting it wash through your senses. 

A small smile cracked through to her lips, and she bit it back. She could remember the first time she'd laid her eyes on Eddie: November 3rd, 1971, 5:32 in the morning after ten hours in labor. He was a small baby, crying like all babies do, and she remembered his eyes, the way they looked just like Frank's did. She remembered whispering to him that she loved him. 

And then Frank had died and it all went to shit. 

"Richard." It slipped past her lips before she could think about it. She watched as both boys turned to face her.

Richie visibly swallowed. "Yeah, Mrs. K?"

Sonia took a breath. "Dance with him tonight for me, okay?"

A smile spread across Eddie's face first, and then Richie's. The latter nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I will."

She suddenly scowled again. “And if he gets hurt at all—!”

Eddie shushed her, walking to his mother and wrapping his arms around her, a tear falling from his eye. "Thank you, Momma. I love you."

She hugged back. "I love you too, Eddiebear."

-

Then, they were at Prom.

The students were dancing, singing along to the music. Beverly and Ben laughed loudly as they drank punch and got to know each other. 

And Richie and Eddie? They were getting to know each other too, alright. By dry humping in the janitor's closet.

"Richie," Eddie breathed out, his back pressing against a few brooms. Richie was holding his thighs around his waist, his hands gripping hard to keep him up. Eddie's head was leaned back and Richie took the opportunity to attach his lips to the skin there.

“Rich,” Eddie said again, closing his eyes. “Babe, we gotta get back in there..”

Richie sighed, pulling back and looking at Eddie. “I know. To be continued after we go home tonight?”

“Sure, Rich,” Eddie laughed, hopping down, brushing himself off.

The two boys laughed and kissed a bit more until they walked back into the gymnasium just in time for the school to announce Prom king.

The principal stood at the microphone on stage, clearing his throat and smiling out at the crowd. "Hello, students. As always, we're going to be announcing the Prom king and queen now, so if all of our contestants could come up on stage."

Girls and boys walked up to the stage, all popular, all gorgeous. Bill was up there. Eddie smiled a bit, hoping he would win.

The principal cleared his throat and opened the first envelope, about to speak when his brows furrowed. He turned and looked at the four boys standing behind him, before looking back at the paper with a confused expression. 

"Uh, I think there's been a mishap—" he began, but was cut off by a voice in the audience.

"There's no mishap!" Henry Bowers yelled with a sly smile. "Read the card, Mr. Lanson!"

Everybody broke into hushed conversation, trying to understand what could have happened. Was this a prank? The principal continued to stand up on stage, dumbstruck, until Henry himself marched up the steps and snatched the paper from his hand. He cleared his throat into the mic.

"Tozier!" he called. "It's your lucky day."

Richie stood in the crowd, the spotlight now on him, like an idiot— he stared up at Henry with a puzzled expression, until finally Eddie poked his side, and whispered, "You're fucking Prom king and you weren't even a contestant."

He snapped out of it then, and walked up on stage, to Henry, who smiled at him and handed him a cliché, plastic crown, attempting to put it on Richie's head. Richie smacked it out of his hand, holding it tightly and turning to the crowd. It was dead silent as he snorted.

"You all are so overdramatic," he laughed, before letting the crown fall to his feet, a loud crunch sounding out as he lifted his boot-clad foot (because the dumbass wore Doc Martens to  _ Prom _ ) and crushed the plastic. The crowd actually gasped. Richie looked at all of them with furrowed brows of disbelief.

"Who wants it?" He lifted his foot and looked down at the broken plastic, and when nobody spoke— everybody's faces were drawn up in shock— he simply kicked the pieces to the side and walked off stage, back to Eddie.

It was quiet again, until Beverly, who stood in the center of the crowd with Ben, started laughing. She laughed so hard that Ben started laughing, and soon enough both had tears streaming down their faces. Stan, who was close by, snorted out a few giggles before cracking up too, and then suddenly, the whole damn place was in tear-filled laughter. Except for Henry.

He screamed into the microphone— well, not screamed, more like groaned loudly, as would a small child getting a toy taken away. "God, Richie, don't you ever get humiliated?!"

Richie stopped laughing and looked up at him. Henry's face was so red, it was almost as if he was going to explode. 

Before Richie could speak, Eddie exclaimed, "No, he doesn't, because he's not a pussy like you!"

Then everyone erupted in laughter again, as Henry stomped off stage and left the gymnasium like a toddler who didn't get his way. 

So, just like that, with a simple snap of a plastic crown and his boyfriend telling Bowers he was a pussy, nobody seemed to be afraid of Richie Tozier anymore. And he felt at peace.


	27. twenty six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts

Richie Tozier was not suicidal— he didn't want to die, of course not. Why die when there was so much to live for? There was sex to be had— sex with Eddie, of course, and why would he want to leave that behind? 

And, so, Richie-not-suicidal-Tozier walked himself to the kissing bridge. It was a high bridge, that went over the river down below. At dusk you could vaguely see the sunset reflecting off of the water. It was dark right now, the only light being the streetlamp not too far away from where he sat. He told himself that he was there to take a deep breath of fresh air, to admire the river beneath him. 

Richie was perked on the edge, feet dangling off the bridge and towards the water. The air was warm but the breeze blowing through was cool, a good mixture of temperatures to make the perfect night. 

The water looked so inviting— most likely still cold from the long winter, even though it was June now, the stars in the sky bouncing off of the water and lighting up the world more than that damn streetlamp ever could. He almost wanted to swim. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Richie was standing on the edge of the bridge, toes barely on the platform, and the wind wasn't all that gentle tonight, for it pushed against the weight of his body, nearly sending him toppling over the edge. He stood for a few minutes, feeling the wind blow through his dark curls, the ones at the base of his hairline sticking to his forehead with sweat he hadn't even realized he was putting out at that moment. 

It felt freeing. He was infinite. Standing on the edge of this bridge, he felt like he could fucking soar. Richie remembered the way the lights flickered down below underneath the one plane he'd ridden, remembered the way it made him feel like such a small thing in such a large world. There were so many lights. They were bright. They were blinding. There were stars in the sky and stars on the ground— stars in Richie's eyes, his ears and stomach and chest. He remembered a science teacher telling him that all humans are made of stardust. 

What was it about the nighttime water that made him want to swim? He wanted to plunge into the water and dip his head underneath, drench his hair and feel the coldness of it drip down his cheeks. 

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, feeling everything sink in. He almost felt high— hypersensitive, aware of every single simmer of energy around him. 

And then a gust hit far too hard, and he was knocked out of his fantasy as one foot slipped off of the bridge and he almost went crashing to his death. Richie gasped and fell backwards into the bridge, gripping the sides. He took a few deep breaths, his lungs filling up with air that was suddenly far too humid and thick for his throat to swallow down. 

Richie felt his chest clench with pain. He really was going to jump, wasn't he? He would have fallen off of the ledge and plummeted to his death, drowning in the water or dying straight on impact, depending on where he landed. And that thought terrified Richie, because maybe he wanted to die more than he'd originally thought.

He got into his truck and drove home. He couldn't bear to be at that bridge any longer. He was afraid of what he might have done.

(and he couldn't listen to the whispering stars anymore. they were far too loud)

-

It was June 12th, 1989, and the seniors of Derry High School were graduating today.

Eddie's hands shook with the intensity of an earthquake as he stood in his space, looking behind him and across the crowd. He could see Richie looking impatient, twisting his fingers in his gown. Eddie was panicking. This was a moment he'd been told about since he was five years old and his father was showing him his old graduation cap. 

The principal of Derry High came to the podium and tapped the mic, clearing his throat. "Hello, class of 1989..."

Eddie blanked out during the speech.

Meanwhile, Richie was fully alert. He was shaking, fingers rapidly tapping. His withdrawals were on full-damage mode currently, and oh, what he would give to just snort a line or two to calm him down.

"...I would like to welcome our Valedictorian to the stage, with a GPA of four point three five..." Richie rolled his eyes.  _ Fucking smart people. They're bullshit. Who the fuck gets a GPA of 4.35 anyway?! Stupid— _

"Richard Tozier."

A wash of silence fell over the crowd. Richie froze. He met Eddie's gaze from across the crowd. He held a look of utter adoration and a proud expression that made Richie's heart melt.

He sucked in a breath and made his way through the crowd, walking up the steps and to the podium. The principal smiled at him and moved out of the way. Richie looked out at the crowd, breathing in a slight pant, and bit his lip.

"So," he started, twisting his ankle nervously behind the podium, "I apparently ignored the letter I received saying I was Valedictorian, so, uh, I don't have a speech and this is scary as all hell but I guess I'll just wing it."

Part of the crowd chuckled, and he locked eyes with Eddie, who had tears in his eyes and a grin on his lips. He nodded, and mouthed,  _ You got this, baby. _

"I, uh, never cared about school, I guess. From the moment I entered kindergarten to, well, now, I have always skipped class and half-assed my assignments, so I'm not all that sure how I even have a four point whatever GPA. And I'm sure you all know about my little... incident... that happened in calculus class earlier this month. After that, my parents kind of forced me to be a student so I could stay in school. But being here, on the stage, it's... scary. Scary, because never in my life have I been honored for something positive," Richie continued, just talking off of the top of his head. He wished he was more prepared.  _ God, why hadn't I read that damn letter, _ he thought.

"My life for the past eighteen years has been like a bad movie, or something. You know, where the kid gets abused at home and bullied at school and hates themselves or some straight-to-DVD film type shit. Well, hey, you're meeting that kid now. There are several hundred people in this room that think I've murdered animals or that I sell hard drugs on the black market, and that's why I've never cared if my life sucked. Because nobody else cared either, so why should I, right?"

He looks to Eddie again, and keeps the eye contact stable. "Then I met somebody. If you don't mind me calling them out by name, he's, uh, right over there," Richie pointed to Eddie, whose face was red and flushed but a smile remained on his face. "Eddie Kaspbrak. And before I met him, I was just this kid who really never thought I'd get better. I thought life would suck forever. But it doesn't, not anymore at least."

Eddie was crying now as several students— and teachers— turned and looked at him. He just held up that proud grin. 

"If you're going through stuff, a nightmare that you cannot wake up from, per say— it will get better. That's cliché and stupid, but it's so true it hurts. Something will come your way, whether it be a person or an opportunity, that will rock your universe and change you for the better. You'll be like the Grinch dude— your heart's gonna grow three sizes, or whatever. Mine did. And yours can too."

Richie turned to the principal. "How long does this thing have to go on for?"

He bit back a chuckle, and whispered. "You've got about two minutes left, Tozier."

Richie leaned back to the microphone, and smiled. "I made some good friends this year. I punched a dude this year. I crashed my car this year, I was in the hospital several times this year, I won Prom king as a joke this year, and my dad went to prison this year. Seniors, we're graduating. I don't know how I got through this year, but you guys did it, too, and that's something to be proud of. We get to go on to live happy successful lives, hopefully get famous, and bang all the hoes—”

"Tozier—”

"Sorry, Mr. Lanson, I'll be appropriate," Richie laughed, along with the rest of the crowd, and even some staff members. "Imma wrap this up."

The crowd fell silent again. This time, it was Richie's turn to feel the tears build up in his eyes. He blinked them away. 

"Last night I almost killed myself." He closed his eyes tight, remembering the wind in his hair, the hushed stars, and took a shaky breath. The crowd gasped. "Almost jumped off the bridge— you know, the kissing bridge. That moment was proof to me that your demons can live inside you, even in times of happiness. Removing your demons takes time. It doesn't happen instantly. But for real… I am so, so glad I didn't jump. So, if I, Richard Wentworth Tozier, the worst human influence to ever grace this planet, can bring myself down from impending suicide and graduate as Valedictorian, you can get through anything. Thanks, losers. And may the class of eighty nine bang all the hoes, because, hell, that's what reckless bitches do, right?!"

Everybody cheered, and Richie's grin grew impossibly bigger. The principal attempted to stay stern, straight faced, but his scowl shattered when Richie turned to him with open arms and a pout. He accepted Richie's hug, smiling into the boy's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"Oh yeah?" Richie asked smugly. "Thanks, Mr. L."

Richie got down off of the stage and back into his spot, and then names were being called.

Henry was one of the first recognizable names to be called, and barely anybody cheered for him as he got his diploma. One person even yelled, "Pussy!" (Mirroring Eddie's statement from Prom)

When they called Jane Hopper to the stage, the entire crowd corrected them, yelling, "El!" which made Richie smile.

And, a bit later… 

"Edward Kaspbrak," the principal called, making Richie's smile break into a grin. The crowd cheered, and as Eddie walked up on stage in his cute cap and gown, Richie felt his eyes fill with tears. 

Edward Kaspbrak. 

He remembered the first time he ever saw him— in the pharmacy, that one day in April. The first day that Eddie was in Derry. He remembered feeling his throat lock up and mouth go dry. He remembered thinking,  _ holy shit, he's fucking gorgeous.  _

(I'd like to marry him one day, perhaps)

Richie remembered almost jerking off in the shower to the thought of him and holding his thigh through calculus class for the first time. He remembered Eddie taking his photo at the quarry as the sun set, and he remembered the way they'd kissed, lips soft against each other's, both of their hearts fucking racing. He remembered telling Eddie he didn't look both ways when crossing the road. He remembered losing his virginity to him, admiring the way his stomach clenched beneath his fingers, the way his lips parted and his eyes rolled back.

A lot of time passed. He remembered his first memories with Eddie for a long, long time, so long that he almost missed it when the principal had called out his name.

He got up to the stage and the crowd cheered, Eddie cheered, and he got his diploma and thought,  _ hell. I fucking graduated. _

_ Never thought I'd do that. _


	28. epilogue

_ 2001 _

"Babe, I think I broke the toaster!"

Richie, age thirty, was currently jiggling the toaster-handle, attempting to force his now-burnt-bagel out of the heat. 

Eddie, also thirty, entered the small kitchen with a smirk, standing behind Richie and rising to his toes, pressing a kiss against Richie's neck. "What did you do?"

Richie huffed. "My bagel won't come up!"

Eddie moved and unplugged the toaster, then, quite forcefully, jammed the handle down and then yanked it up. A loud crack was heard as one half of Richie's bagel fell out onto the counter, the other half laying on top of the toaster.

"Yeah," Eddie sighed. "We're gonna need a new toaster."

Richie burst into laughter, tugging Eddie in with him. Their house was silent except for the sound of their joined laughter, echoing through the empty rooms and bouncing off the walls, the rooms and walls that held millions of memories.

After graduation, Richie inevitably went off to community college for a bit, while also applying to universities across the country like a madman. Eddie, however, happily attended New York University, not only because it's where he'd dreamed of going since he was little, but because he knew he'd still be close to Richie, even with those extra miles in between them.

And they were faithful— Richie didn't even think about cheating, and neither did Eddie. They talked every single day. Richie got gotten himself a tiny little place quite close to his school, and the payphone on Eddie's floor at NYU was directly next to his dorm, so he was able to call practically whenever, and whenever Richie called (they had specific times set up for them to call each other), he could hear it and get to it pretty quick.

So, Richie told Eddie about what was going on in Derry— about how Henry Bowers got arrested after kicking the windows out of a police car, or how his own beloved Silverado got totaled again and this time it wasn't fixable. He told Eddie when he bought himself a black 1984 Ford Mustang, and when he eventually got into a wreck with that one. He hit a pole in a McDonald's drive-thru. Eddie remembered the day he and Richie had gone to McDonald's and ate together in the Silverado, and a smile fell onto his face that he couldn't wipe off for hours.

Of course, Eddie told Richie about New York. He told Richie about the pride marches he'd been to, and how at home they made him feel. He told Richie about his stupidly annoying roommate, who never shut up about The Red Hot Chili Peppers, which wasn't annoying until he began to religiously blast "Blood Sugar Sex Magik" and Eddie wanted to drill his ears until they bled. He told Richie about how much he missed him, how much he loved him.

Richie would visit. They’d kiss, and they’d cuddle, and of course, they’d mess around.

But they'd go on dates, too. Cute little lunch breaks after Eddie had to go to class and Richie just hung out in his dorm. Eddie's favorite place was right by campus, so he'd finish up class and get back to his dorm, and then him and Richie would hop into his mustang and drive to the small little sandwich place that Eddie adored. 

After about a year of Richie being in community college, when he had the money for it, he finally got accepted into the school he really wanted to be at— and it just so happened to be New York University.

He didn't tell Eddie, no, he wanted to surprise him. And, so, move-in day of the next year, Richie knocked on Eddie's door and listened as the boy inside huffed and puffed, walking to the door and opening it. His eyes lit up in happiness when he saw Richie. 

"Rich! What are you doing here?!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around Richie. He was so happy. He'd gone home to Derry for the summer, and saying goodbye to Richie the day before had been torture. Richie kissed his neck softly, his arms hanging around Eddie's waist.

"I go here," he whispered with a smile, and when Eddie pulled away, his face was one of pure joyous shock. He smashed his lips to Richie's both of them smiling against each other, and god, they felt at home.

Eddie graduated in '93 with a Bachelor of Arts in photography, and Richie with Richie graduated from NYU with a Bachelor's degree in psychology. 

Eddie practically flung himself into his career immediately after graduating, starting by having Richie ask around town, see if anyone needed wedding, graduation, or event photos, or knew anyone that did. And, of course, tons of people did— so Eddie was flying high, taking grad and wedding pictures for people left and right, and by the end of 1993, he'd bought him and Richie a condo in Brooklyn. 

Their first night there, they laid side by side, Eddie cradling Richie's face in his small hands, running his fingertips gently over the dips of his cheekbones. They were twenty two. Eddie connected their lips softly, opening his mouth and letting Richie's tongue slip in. Eddie held him tighter, body arching into Richie's embrace. The two boys smiled into each other's mouths.

"I love you," Eddie whispered against Richie's lips, kissing him on the side of his mouth before going back to his actual lips. Richie sighed in content, holding the small of Eddie's back in his hands.

"I love you," Richie said, beginning to trail kisses down Eddie's neck. He rolled his head back to make room for Richie's mouth, feeling him bite and nip into his skin. 

Richie pulled away suddenly, and made eye contact with Eddie. "Eds, I have a question for you."

Eddie rolled his eyes and kissed Richie once more, before meeting their eyes again. "Shoot."

Richie smirked, dragging a hand across Eddie's tanned skin, brushing past his soft lips and to his jawline. Richie bit his bottom lip. "Close your eyes."

Eddie giggled. "Why?!"

His boyfriend just smiled lovingly, pressing two kisses to each of Eddie's eyelids. "Close."

Eddie did as he was told, and felt Richie's body slip away from his arms, which he did not enjoy.

"Where are you going?" Eddie mumbled angrily, feeling around for Richie, who seemingly disappeared. Eddie heard a laugh from the other side of the room. 

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Richie said, and Eddie felt the bed dip with his boyfriend's arrival. He laid on his side patiently, waiting for Richie to do anything.

After what felt like hours, Richie said, "Give me your left hand."

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, but lifted his left hand up for Richie to take. He felt Richie's fingers caress his hand, holding it gently, as something slightly chilled and hard slid around and down his fourth finger... his ring finger...

Eddie's eyes opened with ease, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight he was met with. Richie, a hopeful look in his eyes, and a shining band slid down onto his finger, gleaming at him as he stared in complete disbelief.

"Marry me," Richie said, not really saying it as a question. Eddie couldn't breathe, but for once, he was breathless in a good way.

"It's not legal," Eddie said, words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. Richie just laughed and shook his head. 

"I don't care," he said. "You shouldn't be legal but, hell, here you are, sexy as ever—”

" _ Richie— _ ”

"We can just get married in the living room," Richie said, taking Eddie's hands in his. "Just say some vows and kiss and then boom, you'd be Edward Tozier and I'd be your husband. I don't care if it's not legal. It's you. I've been breaking the law with you since I was eighteen."

Eddie bit his lip, looking down at their hands, at the ring. "Okay."

Richie smiled. "You'll marry me?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispered, a grin spreading onto his lips. "I'll marry you."

Richie attacked him in a hug, but it didn't take very long for that embrace to get heated.

He was true to his word, though— him and Eddie had a makeshift wedding in the living room of their condo, after Richie oh-so-excitedly called up Beverly and forced her to marry them. So, she did. 

And it wasn't official, but they each wore a ring and told people that,  _ yes, they were married.  _

It wasn't official— well, as official as it could be, then— until February of 2001, two months after same sex marriage was legalized for the first time in The Netherlands, when Richie and Eddie flew to and legally got married in Amsterdam. 

Yeah, the United States didn’t recognize them as a married couple, because it wasn't legal  _ there,  _ but fuck the government! They were fucking married. 

And that takes them back to the present, in their newly bought house, on the edge of California. Richie wanted to go because he thought it was beautiful. Eddie wanted to go because he knew it was beautiful, especially for his photography.

Richie, with his major in psychology, became a therapist, surprisingly— and the people he specialized in were sexual assault victims. It just felt right. He wanted to be the one who made these people feel whole again— he didn't want them to feel empty for as long as he did.

Not only did they have a house, but they had a dog. His name was Coby, and he was a cocker spaniel/basset hound mix. Richie had practically begged Eddie to adopt that one, just because the damn name had "cock" in it. Eddie inevitably fell in love with the puppy, though, and they adopted him. Richie was ecstatic, and when they got home, they sat around on their couch and came up with his name. Richie thought "Coby" was perfect. 

And, so, thirty years old, legally married (from Amsterdam, at least), and cuddling with their dog, Richie and Eddie Tozier laid on the couch of their Californian home, watching TV. Eddie's head resting on Richie's chest, and Coby's head resting on Eddie's.

"Hey Rich?" Eddie said, looking up at him. 

Richie looked down, running his hand through Eddie's hair. "Yeah, baby?"

"I love you," Eddie smiled, leaning up and kissing Richie softly, before pulling away and leaning his head on Richie's chest again.

Richie stared down at Eddie with a huge smile across his face, and he remembered. Remembered a time when he was too afraid to love, or be loved.

_...Richie was fucking terrified. He hadn't felt even close to this way since the summer before seventh grade when Betty Ripsom kissed him on the cheek, before he really understood what a crush was. He swore off feelings, swore off that wretched word: love. God, even thinking it puts a sour taste in his mouth. Richie said he would never love anybody, never even like anyone like that ever again. It was too damn risky. You get hurt too easily... _

_ Yeah, well, fuck you, eighteen year old Richie, _ he thought.  _ Love is the most beautiful thing I have ever felt in my life. _

"I love you, too, Eds," Richie smiled. "So, so much."

Richie Tozier might have been feared for years, might have been beaten down and destroyed, traumatized, even— but he wouldn't change a thing. Because he may have graduated as Valedictorian, been the smartest motherfucker in his class, but there was one thing he did not know— and that was if he would have ever met Eddie, had it not been for everything that went wrong in his life. Or maybe he did know, and he never could realize it. Never could realize that being reckless was the best fucking thing he'd ever done.

**the end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. for the ogs, i hope you enjoyed just as much, if not more, than the original. for the newbies, thank you for getting all the way to the end. 
> 
> love always
> 
> sammi <3
> 
> twitter: buckbuchanans  
> ig: cwbucky


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